


A Child Shall Lead Them

by Rikkichi



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU - The Inquisitor is a child, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Kid Inquisitor, Lavellan/Cole is pure and sweet and only happens in the Trespasser-based chapters, M/M, Mamabear!Cassandra, Spoilers, Spoilers for the Trespasser DLC in some chapters, The 'mature' rating is because of Dorian/Bull shenanigans, The Inquisition is now full of babysitters, What if Lavellan was a kid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-15 23:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10559274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikkichi/pseuds/Rikkichi
Summary: When the Conclave is destroyed and the Breach is opened, only one survivor is left to tell the tale. A single survivor with a strange mark on their hand, one that might be the key to saving the world. So what's stopping the Inquisition from naming this survivor as the Inquisitor and continuing on with their plan to save the world? Oh, just a few minor details.Like the fact that the so-called 'Herald of Andraste' is a 12-year-old Dalish elf who barely knows anything about the world, much less how to run an army.





	1. Introduction

This fic isn't written sequentially. Each chapter (after the first, which establishes the 'what if' AU) is it's own contained story, focused on one central theme. They don't necessarily go in order timeline-wise, and each chapter might cover several points in time. They all go together in the same 'story', just not necessarily in a set order.

The titles for each chapter fit this structure: "title (viewpoint character)". If more than one character is listed, then that means there is more than one viewpoint character in that chapter. The name used for Lavellan in the narration (Mahanon, Lavellan, Herald, etc.) will depend on what character is the viewpoint character for that chapter. The one exception to this is Varric, because I'm not going to have everyone's names be their nicknames in the narration. That would get confusing fast.

Character tags are for characters that have at least one viewpoint chapter. All of the characters from Dragon Age: Inquisition will make appearances, but not necessarily as viewpoint characters. That's why they might not have a tag, even if they show up in the story. I'll add more tags as more chapters go up.

**WARNING:** While there will not be any written-out sex involving minors, there are discussions of sexual themes in this story, and Lavellan is involved in some of those discussions. I'm not going to put the 'underage' tag on this fic because he is not actually having sex, but I will label chapters which include sexual/NSFW material. I will also warn for particularly graphic violence.

I'll also add tags for ships as they appear in the story. I have a few of them planned out already, but I'm not going to add them until they show up in some capacity.

For this fic, these are Lavellan's ages:

12 at the start of Inquisition, with his 13th birthday occurring shortly after (9:41)  
14 at the end of the main storyline (9:42)  
16 for anything taking place during or after the Trespasser DLC (9:44)

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Chapters:

[The Beginning](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10559274/chapters/23326418) (Lavellan)

[The Inquisitor](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10559274/chapters/23383320) (Cassandra)

[Magic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10559274/chapters/23508159) (Solas, Vivienne, Dorian) (vague spoilers for the Trespasser DLC)

[Smutty Literature](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10559274/chapters/23595276) (Varric) ( **WARNING:** discussion of sexual themes)

[Birthday](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10559274/chapters/23644878) (Lavellan) (vague spoilers for the Trespasser DLC)

[Changing the Future](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10559274/chapters/23666124) (Dorian) ( **WARNING:** graphic violence)

[Borrowing a Bed](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10559274/chapters/23713044) (Lavellan) (spoilers for the Trespasser DLC)

[Redheads](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10559274/chapters/23832873) (Vivienne) ( **WARNING:** this chapter refers to adults having sexual thoughts about teenagers)

[Help, part 1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10559274/chapters/23919837) (Cole)

[Wicked Eyes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10559274/chapters/24257688) (Lavellan) (first half, goes with 'Wicked Hearts')


	2. The Beginning (Lavellan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the one chapter that has a definite order and should be read first. The others don't have a set order and can be read in any way you like.

He had no idea how he had ended up in a prison, surrounded by four guards. He also didn't know why they all had their weapons out and pointing at him, especially since he was shackled down and not going anywhere. Were they afraid? Mahanon got the feeling that they were afraid, and that made him afraid too. It didn't even cross his mind that they might have been afraid of him, he just recognized their fear. And if the guards were afraid, that meant something bad was happening, right?

Mahanon tried to pull his knees up against his chest, but found that the shackles limited his movement too much, so he gave up on that as quickly as he had started. Where was the First? She should have been there, she would know how to fix things. She always fixed things.

A door outside of the cell opened, and Mahanon could hear arguing. Two women, if the voices were anything to go by. As they walked over to the cell, he could make out more of what they were saying, and he stayed quiet as he listened.

"He needs to be interrogated, he must know something!"

"He is a child! You don't honestly think he has anything to do with this, do you?"

"He has that mark on his hand, and he walked right out of the Fade! What am I supposed to think?"

"You're supposed to use your judgement, Seeker! Look at him, he can't be any older than ten-"

"I'm thirteen," Mahanon interjected. Like hell was he going to let people assume he was younger than he actually was.

Both of the women stopped arguing, and they looked at him. The one with the armor on, she raised an eyebrow at him, clearly questioning what Mahanon had just said. The pressure from that stare was enough to break his resolve, and he glanced away guiltily as he added, "…in a couple months."

The other woman, the one who had been defending him before, she spoke again. "See? He's only twelve! Do you know of any twelve-year-olds who have that kind of magic?"

"This one must! How else do you explain everything that happened?"

They were in the cell now, and the four guards backed away and put their swords away. The kinder of the two women said, "Let me try first," before approaching Mahanon, crouching down so that she was on his level. Then, to him, she said, "My name is Leliana. What is yours?"

"Mahanon, from clan Lavellan," he said carefully, his gaze shifting between Leliana and the woman in armor standing nearby, "Are you going to punish me? I know I wasn't supposed to, but-"

"So you admit it," the woman in armor said sharply, and she took a step forward, her hand on her sword.

Leliana quickly stopped the woman, moving her hand in a 'stay back' motion, which got the armored woman to stop. "Please, wait just a moment." Then she turned back to Mahanon and said, "Tell me, what did you do?"

"I…" Mahanon looked down at his hands. Even with them closed into fists, he could see the green glow coming from his left hand. The same green glow that had startled him when he had awoken. It stung, but not so much that he would cry. He would be brave, even if he was scared.

He looked up to Leliana again, and he kept speaking. "I snuck into the caravan going to the Conclave. The Keeper and the First, they had been talking about it, and I was curious. I...Ellana- she's the First- she found me, and she told me to stay hidden. She told me that she would take me back home when the Conclave was over. I didn't mean to cause any trouble, I promise! I just got hungry, so I went looking for some food, and…"

And then his memory was blank, besides the strange dream he had while he was unconscious. 

"And then what," Leliana asked.

Mahanon shook his head. "I don't know. That's all I remember."

Leliana looked back to the armored woman, who was still standing strong. The look on her face hadn't changed any, but she wasn't holding onto her sword anymore. Her arms were crossed instead, showing her displeasure. Mahanon wasn't sure what the two of them were doing, but some kind of an understanding passed between them.

As the silence dragged on, Mahanon grew uncomfortable. He didn't like the silence, and if other people wouldn't talk, then he would fill the quiet himself. He had plenty of questions too, if they needed something to talk about. "Where's Ellana? She told me to stay hidden, I don't want her to get mad at me-"

"Enough," the armored woman said, firmly but not cruelly. 

Leliana stood up, and she returned to speaking just to the other woman, not including Mahanon in the discussion at all. "Cassandra, maybe you should show him. It might be easier than just telling him."

"Show me what," Mahanon asked, the fear rising in him again, "What happened? Is Ellana hurt?"

The other woman- Cassandra, apparently- made a disgusted noise and stepped over to Mahanon quickly. She removed his cuffs, and then she tied his hands with rope, tying it a bit more roughly than she needed to. Her anger, it was showing through her actions, and it made Mahanon shrink away from her just a little bit. Cassandra must have mistaken his reaction for an attempt to escape, because she grabbed his wrists and dragged him to his feet. "Do not try to run away," she said firmly, and she led him out of the house he had been locked away in.

He was not prepared for what waited for him out there.

Bits of green fire crashing to the ground.

A spiral of green energy reaching up to the sky.

A tear in the Veil, the same shape and color as the one on Mahanon's hand. Pulsing at the same time his mark pulsed.

All above the spot where the temple had been not even a few hours ago.

Mahanon felt his heart stop for a moment. Just what had even happened?

\---

There was no time to process it all. As soon as Mahanon had seen it all, he had been dragged down the path that lead towards the temple, towards that great breach in the sky. Down paths, past soldiers, and even around a rather angry-looking man who demanded that Mahanon stay locked up. Cassandra largely ignored them all, and she largely ignored Mahanon's protests too.

They were well on their way before she finally did listen to one of his questions: "Are you crazy? That place is dangerous! Why are we going there?"

That was when Cassandra stopped and whirled around to face him. "Because that thing-" she pointed to the glowing mark on his hand, "-may be the key to our salvation, and I need proof of that."

She turned around again and continued to walk, dragging Mahanon along with her. "There are rifts closer to the breach. We will test it on one of those."

Well then. It was a slight relief, to know that he didn't have to go back to the temple. But being close to it felt dangerous, especially since rifts meant demons. Mahanon didn't want anything to do with demons, they were big and scary and the stories Ellana had told him about them made him have nightmares sometimes.

And they did prove to be scary, too. Because of course they couldn't get up the mountain without demons attacking, and since Mahanon didn't know how to fight it was up to Cassandra to protect them both. Which she did, of course, she was a skilled warrior and could take them out in one or two swings. They were absolutely frightening, shambling monsters, but they never got anywhere near Mahanon. Cassandra cut them down before they got anywhere near him. 

It was almost funny, how such a scary woman had become a comfort. Not even an hour ago Mahanon had been terrified of her. Now he wanted to stay right by her, so that she could protect him. 

During one of the fights she got hurt, though. It was only a surface wound, but it was on her sword arm, and Mahanon could tell that it was slowing her down. She needed help if she was going to keep protecting him, and thankfully it was a kind of help he could offer. So as Cassandra stood there, surveying the fallen demons to make sure they were truly dead, Mahanon stepped up and held his hands up to her injured arm. A warm glow encased the wound, and a couple seconds later Cassandra stepped away quickly, looking at Mahanon with an accusatory glare.

"What do you think you are doing," she demanded, her voice shaking Mahanon's newfound confidence.

"I-I was just trying to help," Mahanon replied, pulling his hands back against his chest protectively as the magic died at his fingertips, "Please don't tell, I won't do it anymore-"

"So you are a mage," Cassandra said, interrupting Mahanon, "What was that, some healing?"

Mahanon nodded quickly.

"What else can you do," Cassandra asked.

"That's it," Mahanon said after a moment of hesitation, "I just got my magic last summer. The Keeper taught me a little bit of healing, but he said I have to wait to learn more, until I go to another clan. He said it's not safe, to have a Second in clan Lavellan." 

Mahanon thought that he might have to explain more, since Cassandra looked a touch confused at that. Which would have been a problem, since Mahanon himself didn't really understand why he had to leave clan Lavellan. He liked it there. It was home, and he didn't want to leave his home. But thankfully Cassandra didn't ask anymore, and instead said, "Alright then. If healing is all you know, then you are permitted to heal others. But don't get involved in a fight, I cannot protect you if you draw the attention of any demons."

Mahanon's response was just a quick nod, followed by fast steps as he hurried to keep up with Cassandra. With no way to protect himself, he definitely didn't want to get left behind anywhere.

\---

"Hurry! Over here!"

For the first time, those words were directed at Mahanon. Not Cassandra, not another soldier, but Mahanon. He had been staying back, well outside of the range of any demons, but now the demons were dead and a weird bald elf was calling for him to come closer to a bit of glowing mess. A rift, Mahanon realized. 

He took a step forward, and the mark on his hand started to glow more intensely. Another step, and it started to burn. A couple more, and the burning got more intense. He stopped, holding the hand to his chest as he hissed in pain. "It hurts," he said.

The elf swiftly stepped over to Mahanon, crouching down near him. When he spoke, it was in a soothing voice, but the urgency was still present too. "It will be for just a moment, Da'len," he said, "Can you be brave for us?"

Brave…Mahanon wasn't very brave. He was scared of spiders and darkness and he cried way too much for a Dalish elf of his age. Sometimes his curiosity and bad decision making could be mistaken for bravery, but that was all he had to offer. Still, with these three people looking to him for help, how could he not at least try? Maybe he could be brave just this once.

Mahanon swallowed down the lump in his throat, and then he nodded.

Smiling, the elf said some words of praise in Elvish before standing up again and placing a hand on Mahanon's back, guiding him towards the rift. 

The mark hurt, and getting closer to the rift made it hurt even more. Mahanon bit down on his lip, trying to keep from crying out in pain. 'It will all be over in a moment,' he told himself over and over again.

But he was too short. He couldn't reach the rift from where he was standing, even with his hand outstretched. So the elf picked him up, holding him closer to the rift. Finally, with a sudden snap, a thread of magical energy connected the rift to the mark on his hand. 

Almost as soon as the thread connected, a fiery-hot pain shot through his hand and up his arm, eventually pulsing through his whole body. The connection only lasted a few seconds, but it was the longest few seconds of his entire life, during which he felt like he was burning up from the inside-out. It was the worst pain he had ever felt in his life, and he just wanted it to stop.

As the fade collapsed in on itself and the thread disconnected from his hand, Mahanon realized that he had been screaming. He stopped as soon as the searing pain disappeared, leaving behind a dull ache in his arm and wet sobs that escaped from his throat unguarded. The elf was still holding onto him- was he hugging him? It was hard to tell; his mind couldn't focus on anything else right then.

He didn't know any of these people. He was stuck in a weird place without any of his clan to run to, and he was scared and hurting and tired all at once.

"I wanna go home…"

But he couldn't. Not yet.

\---

The destroyed temple lay in front of them. Just looking at the mess, Mahanon could understand why everyone thought he was responsible for it. How could anyone walk away alive from that? He wished he could remember what had happened, maybe then he could explain. 

Maybe that would be enough to help, too. Mahanon didn't like closing rifts. He hadn't cried, not after the first one, but it still hurt every time and he had to fight to keep the tears down. Already he had closed a handful of rifts. How many more would he have to do?

At least now he could walk. Even if Solas- the elf who had helped him before- had volunteered to carry him, he didn't want to be dead weight. Varric- the dwarf with the crossbow- had just given him a pat on the back and told him to be strong. They would protect him, they said. They got him to the rifts, and he closed them. 

Mahanon wasn't very brave, but he could be strong, for them. They needed him. He was the only one who could close the rifts, so he couldn't run away and go hide at home. And now that he knew how much it hurt, he could brace himself for it. He could keep the screams inside, he could make it look like he had it under control. Even if it hurt, he had to do this, or else things would get worse. He had to endure.

That didn't make the ruined temple any less scary, though. Especially not as they stepped through the archways and found the giant rip in the Veil, the Breach. The rifts had been tiny, but this? This was _massive_! Mahanon didn't even want to think about what could come through that.

The voices that started to come out of the Breach didn't help either.

_"Prepare the sacrifice."_

_"What's that?"_

_"I…I was looking for the kitchen…what's going on?"_

That last one, that was his own voice, wasn't it? But he didn't remember any of this. What had happened?

_"It is no matter. Kill the elf."_

_"Run, child! RUN!"_

All of the adults looked to Mahanon expectantly, which made him shy away from them. "I don't remember any of that," he said, looking down at his hands.

"Well I doubt this is your culprit, Seeker," Varric said to Cassandra, who made an affirmative noise in return. At least they didn't suspect him anymore, which was a nice change. Though Cassandra had been warming up to him slowly anyway, so maybe she was beginning to realize the truth on her own. Mahanon was just an innocent bystander, caught up in whatever had happened. A lucky survivor, for sure, but he had no hand in this disaster.

He would have a hand in ending it, though. 

"Focus, Lavellan!"

Mahanon quickly jerked his head over in Cassandra's direction. That was the first time she had actually used his name! Well, his clan name technically, but close enough. So he nodded to her, and then looked to Solas, who seemed to know what to do in these situations.

"You'll need to use the mark on your hand to close the Breach," Solas said, "Just like you did with the rifts. But this one is bigger, and it will take longer. And it will attract some unwanted attention."

"That means demons," Cassandra said with a sigh, and she gave the signal for her men to get into position. But Cassandra, Varric, and Solas stayed right near Mahanon, forming an adult-barrier around him. They would keep him safe as he closed the breach, and the other soldiers would fight any demons.

Still, he was nervous. If the demons came out of the Breach, then they would be right next to him, right? Could Cassandra, Solas, and Varric really keep him safe?

"On your mark, Lavellan."

It seemed like he didn't have much of a choice. He would have to trust them, and hopefully he wouldn't drag them down any.

\---

Mahanon barely remembered any of the fight. There had been a pride demon, and it had been particularly brutal, knocking out Varric entirely and nearly doing the same to Cassandra. But somehow they had won, and at the last moment Mahanon had managed to seal the Breach and the pride demon had fallen.

Or…stabilized the Breach? Something like that. The Breach still hung high in the air, even now as Mahanon snuck around outside of the houses at Haven to sneak a look. But even though it was there, it wasn't shooting out fireballs or anything, and the mark in his hand didn't ache like it had before. So they must have done something right back then, before Mahanon had passed out and slept for several days.

Everyone was looking for him. The 'Herald of Andraste', they called him. Mahanon wasn't particularly religious- even the prayers to the Elven gods were more of a 'this is something the clan does' than a 'this is something I believe in' kind of thing. He didn't really know what to believe anymore, especially not after the events of the last week or so. But the one thing he knew for sure was that he didn't particularly feel like a 'herald'. He still felt like a Lavellan, and a kid at that. Too young to even have the Vallaslin yet. How could he possibly be this great person that everyone expected him to be?

Luckily, Mahanon was pretty good at sneaking around. Even though he was a small elf- smaller than most his age, even- and had a mess of deep red hair on top of his head, he could still slip by unnoticed. A borrowed cloak was all he needed to go unseen. Haven was also small enough that he was able to go from the house he had been sleeping in to the Haven Chantry with just a little bit of sneaking and ducking around the crowds. Once at the doors, Mahanon slipped inside unnoticed.

He crept through the Chantry, listening carefully for the signs of any familiar voices. He had heard that Cassandra would be there, and he wanted to talk to her. With the Breach stable, he would be able to go home, right? He needed to find her to talk to her about it.

Eventually he heard some shouting coming from a back room. Carefully he snuck up to the door, and he opened it a crack, peeking in. Cassandra was there, as was Leliana, and that stuffy priest from before. The one who had wanted to send Mahanon away to be punished. They were all arguing about something. Mahanon heard the word 'Inquisition' get thrown around a couple times, as well as his own name. As before, the priest wanted Mahanon to be put on trial. But this time, Cassandra was standing up for him. Did she believe in him now? That made him feel a little better.

But as he eavesdropped, he heard about the chaos going on, and how someone was needed to stop it. Even if the Breach was secure, there was no telling how long it would last. And there were still rifts opening up out there, rifts that only one person could close.

"This is preposterous," the priest said, slamming his fist on the table, "You would rally up all these men and women, start up the Inquisition again, all for the sake of one child?"

"For the sake of the world," Cassandra said, correcting him, "If that means protecting a child along the way, then so be it."

"It is true that he cannot fight," Leliana added, "He is young, far too young to be a soldier or a leader. But he is the one with the power to close the rifts and seal the Breach, so we must protect him while he does that. I do not like the thought of putting him in harm's way, but with the right help we can at least minimize the risk he is exposed to."

"The Inquisition is coming back with or without the Chantry's support," Cassandra said firmly, effectively ending the conversation.

Mahanon had to duck around a corner when the priest came storming out of the room. He gave it a few seconds, still hiding in the shadows of the room, before he snuck back to his position by the door. At that point, Cassandra and Leliana were inspecting a book on the table. They were talking to each other too, and Mahanon strained to listen in on their conversation just as Cassandra began to talk.

"We'll need an Inquisitor for this to work."

"Yes. Preferably someone who can work with a child. Whoever we pick, they're going to be the first in line to defend Lavellan."

"Hawke would undoubtedly be a good choice. Varric told me about her, she had younger siblings."

"Yes, but have you been able to locate Hawke?"

"No, not yet."

"And we are running out of time. We may need to choose someone from inside our own ranks."

"But who? And how would we choose?"

"Perhaps our young 'herald' would be able to make the choices for us?"

Cassandra made an irritated noise at that suggestion. "He would probably choose that damned apostate. Or worse, the dwarf."

"He does seem quite taken by them, doesn't he?"

"And neither of them are good choices for Inquisitor either. Lavellan wouldn't even know where to begin with qualifications for an Inquisitor, so he should not be making the choice."

"Maybe some kind of input from him would be helpful."

"Maybe. I will continue to search for good candidates. In the meantime, we need to round up as many troops and leaders as we can. We're going to need an army to protect the boy, not just a handful of particularly skilled fighters."

"I know. Even the Hero of Ferelden needed the help of the people to stop the Blight. Nobody can fight against evil on their own. I will send letters-"

At that moment, Leliana looked up, and she stopped mid-sentence. Mahanon had been so busy listening in that he hadn't realized that he was visible. He shied away, ducking back around the edge of the door frame, but he could still hear Leliana call out, "It's alright, come in here," from inside the room.

Taking a deep breath and accepting his inevitable punishment, Mahanon stepped into the doorway fully. He was holding his hands behind his back and looking down at his feet, his default posture when he knew he was about to get in trouble.

"It is rude to eavesdrop," Cassandra said in a scolding tone.

"Sorry," Mahanon said automatically, though his tone came off as insincere. It was definitely the kind of 'sorry' that meant 'sorry for getting caught'.

"It is alright. You came here because you care, yes?" Leliana's voice was much more soothing, at least. Maybe she would keep him from getting in trouble.

Mahanon nodded in return, though he still didn't look up at the two women. "I gotta help. Nobody else can close the rifts, right?"

"You're right," Cassandra said, albeit reluctantly, and that change in tone from her was enough to make Mahanon look up finally, "I do not want a child out here on the front lines, in the middle of danger, but we have no choice. You're the only one who can do it."

"But you're gonna protect me, right?" Cassandra was strong, Mahanon decided. She was strong, and she fought for what was right. If she was there, then he would be safe. That was at least a tiny comfort to him.

Cassandra nodded in return. "Yes. I will not let you be harmed by any demon. There are others too that will be there to help."

"And I can help," Mahanon said, holding up a hand as he stepped up to the table. His right hand, specifically, as he wasn't talking about the mark and how it closed rifts. A little spark of magic jumped between his thumb and index finger as he spoke. "If you get hurt, I can heal you. So I won't be useless, okay?"

"You were never useless," Leliana said warmly, "You're special, Lavellan. You have the power to save all of us. Don't ever feel like you are useless, because you are anything but."

"And speaking of your magic…" Cassandra trailed off there, tapping at her chin thoughtfully. She must have been coming up with a plan of some sort. "We can work on your magic too. I know a few people who could train you."

"Like Solas," Mahanon asked excitedly. They had only spoken briefly, but Mahanon liked Solas a lot. He was an elf too, but not a Dalish, and he knew magic! And he was very nice, kind of like an older Dalish man, the ones who watched out for the younger members. If Cassandra represented 'safety' to Mahanon, then Solas represented 'familiarity'. 

Cassandra did not seem to agree, though. "An apostate would be a poor choice for a tutor. The mages I had in mind, they all were trained in the Circles. Their magic would be far safer for you to learn."

"We'll need to consult his clan's Keeper about it," Leliana reminded Cassandra, "After all, he will be their First now. I imagine the Keeper wants his magic to develop a certain way."

That didn't make any sense to Mahanon. Ellana was the First, and there was only ever one First. Why would he be the new First? Did the old Keeper die, making Ellana the new Keeper? "Why would I be the First? What happened?"

Cassandra and Leliana both looked at each other quickly, an expression of pity passing between them. The longer they went without answering his question, the more anxious he got. Something bad must have happened, for them to look like that. He was about to ask again, but before he could, Leliana stepped around the table to stand near Mahanon. She even crouched down to his level, looking him directly in the eye. The sorrow on her face, it made Mahanon even more fearful.

"Lavellan…you were the survivor of the Conclave. The _only_ survivor."

So that was it. Everyone else that had been there- Ellana, all of the Chantry officials, the humans and dwarves and elves and everyone else, even the Divine herself- they were all gone. All except for him.

He would never see Ellana again. He would never get to practice magic with her, or learn about stuffy old stories from a long time ago, or practice how to make clothes or cook food or anything else that she had done with him. She was gone.

Mahanon didn't even realize he was crying, not until his vision blurred and he was pulled into a tight hug. But even Leliana's comforting words did nothing to ease the ache he felt in his heart. 

Why had all of this happened?


	3. The Inquisitor (Cassandra)

Nothing was going right.

Nothing ever seemed to go right anymore.

Cassandra rubbed at her forehead, trying to ease the tension that had set in once more. She didn't particularly want to be at these meetings with Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine; she was supposed to find their Inquisitor, not serve as a proxy for one! But with the Breach, and the Herald, and everything else that had been thrown at them in the last two weeks, Cassandra had stepped up to take care of things.

For now. Until their Inquisitor was found.

"So what you are saying," Cassandra said, speaking carefully after listening to all three advisors, "Is that we are at an impasse."

"Not an impasse," Josephine said quickly, "More of a 'fork in the road', so to speak. With difficult terrain to travel on either path."

Cullen spoke next, "The templars would be our best bet. They're more organized, more able to help."

"You think so? Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember." Yes, _that_ particular interaction had been a nightmare. And to even ask for help from the templars, they would need to go through Lucius. He worried Cassandra, more than she liked to admit. Something was wrong with him, and she wanted to find out what it was.

"If we had more influence, maybe," Leliana said, "But right now, I think approaching either group would be unwise. I mean no offense to you, Cassandra, but-"

"-But we have no leader," Cassandra said, finishing Leliana's sentence for her, "Just a young Herald and a few dozen guards to keep him safe. I know."

"And I know you are trying your best," Leliana said, sounding more insistent than before, "But you are a Seeker, not an Inquisitor. Even though you are doing a fine job of leading things for now, titles do matter. And without an Inquisitor, they will not listen to us. Nobody will."

"Then it might be time to abandon our original plan and go with something else," Cassandra admitted. But who else could lead them? Hawke was the Champion of Kirkwall, a hero everyone could get behind! Sure, she may have been a mage, if Varric's tales were to be believed, but true heroism did not care about a person's background. Hawke was the best choice, but if she could not be found, then who?

"Perhaps someone within our ranks," Cullen suggested, "There are plenty of fine soldiers here, surely one of them would be a good choice."

"We could look into that, but we should not settle," Leliana said in response, and Cassandra made a noise of agreement. They needed the best, not just 'the best at hand.'

Suddenly a flash of green light caught everyone's attention. All four of them whirled around in surprise, their attention drawn to a table near the back of the room. On that table sat none other than their young Herald, Mahanon Lavellan, his left hand held up in the air in the same way a child might try to gain the attention of a teacher.

Speaking of hands…

"By the- how did you even get in here?!" Cassandra hated to admit it, but that small elf was constantly jumping out and surprising her. She was sure it wasn't intentional, not every time at least, but she could feel herself going grey from it all.

Lavellan's face immediately fell, and he gave the group (especially Cassandra herself, she could feel his eyes upon her) a grumpy look. "I was already in here. It's not my fault you weren't looking."

Cullen, his arms crossed in front of him in a way that practically screamed 'disapproving parent', was the one who managed to reprimand Lavellan first. "You're not supposed to be in here, young man. This is a meeting room, not a place for children to play."

"Well it's a good thing I wasn't playing around then," Lavellan said coolly, and with his right hand he pointed to the stack of books on the table. Cassandra couldn't quite make out the titles on them, but they were thick and old and probably something related to the young elf's continuing education. 

"This isn't a place for you to do your schoolwork either," Josephine said, her voice serious but not nearly as scolding as Cullen's had been.

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Lavellan said, quickly waving them off, "But that's not important right now. You guys need a leader, right?"

Cullen and Josephine looked ready to protest any involvement on Lavellan's part, and Cassandra was ready to join them, but Leliana held up a hand to stop the three of them. Instead of admonishing him, Leliana said, "Do you have a suggestion for us, then?"

A suggestion. Not an order, Lavellan definitely did not have enough power for anything like that. Even if he was the Herald of Andraste, he was still a child, and Cassandra didn't even want to think about the kind of orders he would give out. But a suggestion…perhaps Leliana was onto something. They needed Lavellan's cooperation in all of this, they couldn't very well tie him up and drag him along to every rift they found. If speaking his mind from time to time would grant his cooperation, then maybe Cassandra could tolerate it. Maybe.

"Yeah, I do." All four adults waited with baited breath, and a moment later Lavellan continued with his thoughts. "I'll do it. I'll be the leader."

So much for cooperation, it seemed.

"No," was the immediate, firm, and undeniable answer from all four adults at once. At least they were all united in that decision.

Lavellan was clearly disappointed in that decision, though. "Aww, come on! Why not?"

"Even disregarding the fact that you are literally twelve and in no shape to even be on the battlefield, you have no idea how to run an army. The soldiers will recognize that instantly, and they will not follow you." Cassandra didn't know why she was even giving Lavellan a real answer, he tended to disregard a lot of what she said anyway, but she felt like it was important to make this point. He really had no business leading the Inquisition. Even if he were an adult, she would still say no. 

"But I'm out on the battlefield all the time," Lavellan said, and he pointed to the glowing green mark on his hand as he continued, "I gotta use this, remember?"

"You won't be on _every_ battlefield," Cullen said, correcting Lavellan, "Not every fight is going to be against darkspawn coming out of a rift. There's a lot of corruption in this world, and you should be spared from the fight if your abilities aren't needed. The Inquisitor would also have a lot of other duties besides fighting. He would have to make judgements, outline battle plans, go to official events, impress nobles. That's too much to ask from a young Dalish elf. You probably don't even know a tenth of all of that."

"Then TEACH me," Lavellan growled at them, "I know I'm a kid, alright? But if you just wanted me to sit around and lock doors for you, then why did we even bring Vivienne here?"

"Vivienne is here to teach you how to control your magic, a skill you would have needed regardless," Cassandra said pointedly, "That has nothing to do with your ability in battle."

"If it lets me shoot fireballs at demons, then I'd say it does!"

"Don't give me that! You can't even light a candle, much less make a fireball!"

As if to prove Cassandra wrong, Lavellan picked up one of the candle-holders from the table. It held an already-lit candle, but he blew it out, leaving behind a trail of smoke extending upwards. But a moment later he held out his other hand and poked at the wick with an extended finger, re-igniting it.

Interestingly enough, it wasn't the act of defiance that set Cassandra off. It was the snicker from Josephine that did.

"That is it," Cassandra seethed, striding across the short distance to the table, closing the distance between herself and Lavellan, "You are _grounded_!"

"What?! You can't ground the Inquisi- owowowwwww!" Lavellan's protests quickly turned into sharp, annoying whining as Cassandra grabbed him by the ear and started to drag him out of the room. The candle fell out of his hands, but thankfully the fire went out once more as it rolled across the floor.

Cassandra tried her best to ignore the three sets of barely-contained snickering as she dragged Lavellan away.

\---

It wasn't until much later, after Lavellan had been put under house arrest and a pair of guards had been told to watch the house carefully, that Cassandra was able to speak to someone again. It wasn't the whole group, but rather just Leliana. 

"He has a point, you know."

Cassandra practically glowered as she responded. "What point could he possibly be making?"

"He does have the capacity to learn. He is not ready for it now, but if we taught him how to lead, he probably could be a great Inquisitor." After a short pause, Leliana added, "In another decade or so."

Cassandra couldn't help but make a disgusted noise at that thought. The boy certainly had heart, but he was foolish. Foolish in a way that only a youth could be. She was firm in her answer, and said, "No. He is too young, too idealistic. I heard what he said, when he brought that damned elf girl back with us. He sees the best in everyone, even when that 'best' is hard to find. Having to face the reality that the world isn't kind, that would be too much for him." Her voice had turned soft by the end of that. Why was she going soft? Lavellan was an annoyance, a child-shaped hindrance that they had to plan around. 

But he was still a child, and he deserved the right to be childish for as long as he could be.

Leliana echoed Cassandra's thoughts a moment later as she said, "You want to protect him. That is admirable, Cassandra. But he can't be protected forever. We have no idea how long this mission of ours will take. The Herald could be an adult before we finish. Should we not prepare him for that reality?"

"No," Cassandra said once more, "Train up his magic, teach him history, put whatever knowledge you want in that head of his. But he cannot be the Inquisitor. We need one _now_ , not in ten years."

\---

In the end, Cassandra's choices mattered very little. With no Inquisitor, both the mages and the templars had demanded that the Herald be present for negotiations. And when Lavellan had decided to talk with the mages first- a move which did not surprise Cassandra in the slightest, he himself was a mage after all- he had been the one who had intervened at Redcliffe, who had been thrown into the future with that Tevinter mage, and who had eventually made it back and prevented that horrible future from even happening. 

Then, with the help of the mages, they sealed the Breach. And before they could truly celebrate, the man responsible for it all had made himself and his army of Venatori and Red Templars known. 

"Take him with you," Cassandra had instructed, shoving Lavellan towards Josephine as the soldiers all began to prepare for what was likely a futile battle, "Keep him safe. Let him heal anyone who gets hurt, but don't let him fight."

Josephine nodded in understanding. Cassandra had always been the one to protect him, the one to go with him on missions, the one to keep him out of trouble. But she needed to go where he should not follow, and thus she had to pass that duty on to someone else. Someone who wasn't likely to die within the next 24 hours. And so she blocked out Lavellan's protests as she strode away, joining the others who were ready to fight to the death to give the people of Haven time to evacuate.

The fight had been a long one, a tiring one, but by some miracle it was working. They weren't winning, per se, but they were stalling the enemy, which had been their goal from the start. Cassandra could count that as a victory, at the very least.

But she was hurt, and she was out of potions to heal herself with. Her sword-arm had been struck, and it was hard to even lift it, much less swing a weapon around. She kneeled down, trying to pick up her sword once more, only to find that her fingers wouldn't cooperate. She just didn't have the grip needed to pick it up.

Then she felt a familiar warmth on her arm, a familiar itching as flesh and muscle knitted itself back together, and she turned her head sharply to look at the small figure with a mess of red hair that was crouched down next to her. 

"What are you doing," she barely hissed out between clenched teeth.

Lavellan did not show an ounce of fear on his face, though. His face was set in a concentrated frown, and he continued to heal her as he spoke. "You fight the monsters I can't. You try to keep me from seeing the bad stuff. You're always protecting me. So don't complain when it's my turn to protect you."

This wasn't protecting her, this was going to get him killed! She pushed him away and stood up, trying to stand over him and exert her authority. She didn't even bother trying to hide the anger and frustration that came out so freely when she spoke: "You are a damned fool of a child! Why don't you ever listen to me?!"

"Because you'd kill yourself before you let me help!" Lavellan was standing as well, his voice rising to match hers. 

"So you would rather throw away your own life instead?" She didn't want to yell at him. She didn't want to hurt him. He was just a child, he didn't understand any of this. He wasn't doing this to upset her. But she couldn't stop herself. That dam of emotions had already burst, there was no point in holding back anymore.

"No! I want to help! I don't want to be shoved around here and there like some…some barrel or tool or something! I don't want people to die when I could've done something to help!" There were tears in his eyes now, not necessarily because he was scared and crying, but moreso because of how high emotions were running.

Cassandra was having none of it, though. She pointed back to the mountain trail as she yelled at Lavellan, "If you want to help, then get yourself up that damn mountain pass and get out of here!"

Any further arguments were cut short by a roaring voice that bathed the ground around them in fire. Neither Cassandra nor Lavellan were hurt, but the fire blinded them both temporarily, and Cassandra had to hold up an arm to shield herself from the flames. Once her eyes adjusted she lowered the arm carefully, just in time to see a tall, gangly figure stroll out of the flames and into view.

Corypheus.

He was even more horrible up close. His face was twisted, his body looked all wrong, everything about him screamed 'enemy, do not trust, kill immediately'.

She felt a pair of small hands grab onto her arm, and she didn't even have to look down to know what was wrong. The fear was practically radiating from Lavellan. His voiceless plea of 'help, please, don't let him get me' was one she could hear loud and clear.

Carefully she nudged Lavellan back, getting him to stand behind her. Then, her eyes still on the abomination in front of her, she crouched down and picked up her sword. Even if she had yelled at him for coming back, she had to give the small Lavellan credit: his healing abilities were improving greatly. She felt refreshed, ready to fight again, her previous injuries entirely forgotten.

"Remove the spare."

And then she heard a roar behind them, and she hadn't even had time to turn and look at the threat before she had been knocked aside by the dragon's clawed foot.

Cassandra wasn't sure how long she laid on the ground, but it had to have been at least a few moments, because by the time she managed to keep her head from spinning long enough to look up she could see Corypheus stalking across the burning field towards Lavellan. The anchor on his hand glowed brightly, clearly causing the boy some pain, pain enough that he had been knocked down. But the sheer panic on his face, the way he tried desperately to scoot away from Corypheus, that told Cassandra the truth: fear was overriding any pain he felt.

"I do not know how a mere child survived, but what marks you as 'touched', what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the heavens." 

Corypheus took another step towards Lavellan. And another. And then another. Slow, but with purpose. And with each step, Lavellan scooted further back, only stopped when eventually the dragon roared to remind the boy of its presence. Lavellan looked back to the dragon, then quickly forward again towards Corypheus. 

Corypheus flexed his hand- a hand that was glowing red with magical energy, Cassandra finally noticed- and the anchor glowed even brighter. Lavellan flinched, and his hand was forced into the air, as if he was being lifted up by the sheer force of the magic.

"And you used the anchor to undo my work. The _gall_."

Lavellan opened his mouth, like he was going to scream in terror, but instead he shouted at Corypheus, "I-I-I'm glad I did!"

Such defiance. Cassandra might have been proud of Lavellan, if that sass weren't about to get him killed.

Corypheus sneered at Lavellan and stepped forward suddenly, picking the boy up by his left arm. It got a yelp of surprise from him, and he struggled to pull free, but Corypheus held on tightly. "You know not what you speak of, whelp. I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the old gods of the empire _in person_. I found only chaos and confusion. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more!"

Cassandra couldn't just lay there and listen to this. Her entire body ached, and she was sure she had some broken ribs at the very least, but the boy needed her.

Lavellan needed her.

"I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world."

Cassandra pushed herself to her feet.

"Beg that I succeed, young one."

Sword in hand, she stepped forward, towards the backside of Corypheus.

"I have seen the throne of the Gods, and _it was **empty**!_ "

With a scream, Cassandra plunged her sword into Corypheus' back, running him through roughly right-of-center.

Corypheus let out a pained noise, as he half-dropped, half-threw Lavellan, who landed with a thud near a trebuchet. For a second he seethed, and Cassandra used that second to pull her sword out of him before he whirled on her, the anger practically dripping from him like the drops of blood that dirtied the ground.

"You won't hurt him, not while I am alive," Cassandra declared boldly, raising her sword again.

"A bold declaration," Corypheus answered, raising his hand to strike her down for good, "I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation- and God- it requires. The anchor may be permanent, but neither of your lives will be."

Cassandra heard a trebuchet fire in the distance. It was the signal, she assumed, the one meant to indicate that everyone had evacuated. A pity that she wouldn't be able to join them. Hopefully Lavellan would take this time to run away and get to safety. She could give him the distraction he needed, at the very least.

"Hey ugly!"

Cassandra cringed internally as she watched Corypheus turn and look at Lavellan. That fool of a boy really didn't know when to quit, did he?

But that also meant that she got to watch as, full of determination, he made one last declaration to Corypheus. "You think you've won, huh? Well congratulations, here's your prize!"

And then he kicked the lever keeping the trebuchet armed. 

The rest was a blur. The boulder impacted the mountainside and sent an avalanche of rocks and snow down onto Haven, burying it. Corypheus managed to flee on the back of his dragon, but Lavellan just stood there, watching as he flew away. That danger was gone, but what next? They were still in danger, they would be overtaken by the falling mountainside and crushed.

Cassandra sheathed her sword and ran at Lavellan, scooping him up into her arms. As soon as he was there he immediately grabbed onto her, holding on as if his life depended on it. Which it did, technically.

Taking a second to look around, Cassandra found what she was looking for: an opening in the ground, one that might protect them from the snow and the rocks. With no time to waste, she ran for it, diving at the last second, both of them falling in as snow rushed overhead.

As they fell, Cassandra turned them, putting herself underneath Lavellan to protect him from the impact.

_'Maker,'_ she prayed silently in those last seconds as they both fell, _'If it is my time to return to you, then so be it. But protect the boy, don't let this be the end of him too. Let him live.'_

\---

She wasn't sure how many hours had passed. It was dark, possibly from the night, or possibly from the fact that the hole they had fallen in was now covered up entirely. As she carefully cracked open her eyes and her vision stopped spinning, she was able to see just how far they had fallen. That fall should have killed her, but she felt…well alright, not 'fine'. She ached in places that she didn't even know could ache. But it was a dull ache, one that came from bruises, not broken ribs and shattered bones. Had something protected her from the fall?

Cassandra tried to sit up, but she found that a weight on her chest kept her from doing so. Next she tried lifting just her head, peering down to see what was on top of her, only to find a sleeping Lavellan there. He looked largely uninjured as well, sporting a few small cuts here and there but otherwise looking fine. She breathed a sigh of relief once she realized that. The Maker had answered her prayers after all.

She tried to sit up again, expecting Lavellan to pop awake immediately, as he usually did any time someone made even the tiniest noise while he slept. The boy was such a light sleeper that it made nighttime planning and tactics difficult. But this time, even as Cassandra rolled him down onto her legs to give her the room to sit up, he did not stir. He frowned slightly in his sleep, but he did not awaken. 

_'He must be exhausted, to sleep so soundly,'_ she said to herself.

It was then, and only then, that she finally looked around. The green glow of the anchor was duller now that the Breach was sealed, but it still gave off enough light for her to see in the dark. And what she saw practically made her heart stop.

The ground around them was covered in blood. 

The pile of wood nearby had a few bloody pieces on top, pieces that looked like they had been driven into someone and then pulled out.

And, finally, Cassandra's clothing was torn in several places. Though her skin did not bear any marks of injury, it was easy to see just what kind of damage had been done to her when she had fallen.

Cassandra drew in a sharp breath. So that's why Lavellan was so tired: he had likely spent all of his energy keeping her alive. His return to Haven and the subsequent events had likely saved her life. Just thinking that thought made her chest ache.

_'You're always protecting me. So don't complain when it's my turn to protect you.'_

"You foolish boy," Cassandra found herself saying, but there wasn't any of that usual bite to those words. She couldn't be mad at him, not anymore. Not after proving that he had been right: that he could be strong, if given the chance.

Though she would have preferred it if he had proved that in a way that didn't involve both of them almost dying several times. 

Taking care to not wake the boy up, Cassandra carefully stood. She picked Lavellan up and moved him to her back, carrying him piggyback-style, his arms hanging limply over her shoulders. He was light enough that she could do that and carry him with one arm, which gave her a free arm to swing a sword around if need be. Then, she started walking.

\---

It was too damn cold, Cassandra decided. The snow was blowing so strongly that she could barely see ten feet in front of her, and every inch of exposed skin stung as the howling wind bit into it. She had long since moved to carrying Lavellan in her arms, shielding his exposed face against her chest. If nothing else, maybe she could keep him from getting frostbite as she pressed forward.

But with each step, she grew tired. With each step, the snow became deeper, harder to pass through. With each step, she became less sure of her ability to get them both to safety.

They had managed to escape the flames of the Elder One, but now they would freeze to death on the side of a mountain. Mother Nature would finish the job that the abomination could not. How ironic.

Cassandra's steps slowed to a halt. The snow was just too deep, she couldn't step through it any more. Her whole body felt tired, too tired. She wanted to lay down and rest, if only for a moment. Yes, just a little bit of rest, and then she could be on her way. Her mind tried to fight against it, but her body felt too heavy. It was all she could do to keep standing.

Then, she heard the shout of familiar voices.

"There! It's her!"

"Not just her, but she's got the boy with her too!"

"Thank the Maker!"

Cassandra didn't even have the energy to say anything to them. As soon as she saw them, she smiled weakly and sank to her knees. The others rushed to her, to catch her as she fell, but she was unconscious before she even felt their arms around her.

\---

The rumors lingered for a long time, long after both Cassandra and Lavellan had awoken, and long after the Inquisition had moved its operations to Skyhold. Rumors of the Herald of Andraste, and how he had led Cassandra through the veil and back to the world of the living after both had been killed by Corypheus. It was all nonsense, of course; Cassandra had told the others as much when she had come to. The truth did little to stop the rumors, though. And along with the other rumors- of Lavellan being chosen by Andraste herself, of how he had traveled through time and stopped the world from going all wrong, along with everything else that people could possibly talk about- it meant that Lavellan was getting a lot of attention. Attention, and praise.

Cassandra couldn't fight it any longer. She knew what had to be done, and after talking with Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine to work out the details, she pulled Lavellan aside one day for a walk.

"Herald," Cassandra started, but then immediately corrected herself, "No, Lavellan-"

"Mahanon," Lavellan said.

Cassandra raised an eyebrow at Lavellan, but waited for him to explain. He always would, if given the chance.

Lavellan made a noise before continuing, "You guys keep calling me by the clan's name. I have my own name too."

"Why bring it up now? You never said anything about it before."

"Yeah, well…" Lavellan looked away in annoyance, "Everyone's all bossy adults that just want to keep me out of the way. But you saved my life, and I saved yours, so that means we're equal now, right?"

So that's what that was about. Cassandra felt a smile tug at the corner of her lip. "Equals? Not friends?"

"You're still a bossy adult too," Lavellan said flatly, as if that was enough to explain it all. Cassandra had to fight to keep a laugh in. He really was still just a boy, wasn't he?

"Fine, equals then." She paused there for a moment before continuing, "Mahanon. I have to admit, we haven't been fair to you-"

"Yeah, no kidding."

"-and it's time to rectify that," Cassandra continued, not rising to Lavellan's bait, "You were right, before: we should be teaching you how to lead. The people of the Inquisition, they believe in you. They have seen you walk away from death twice now. They truly believe that you are blessed by Andraste, that you will save everyone."

Cassandra stopped walking and turned to face Lavellan fully. Lavellan stopped as well and looked up at her, eyes full of curiosity. She said, "We do not expect you to jump right in and lead the Inquisition, but we would like it if you sat in on our meetings and listened. We would also let you handle minor decisions, giving you practice at being a leader. That way you can learn, and maybe in a few years you could be the Inquisitor everyone needs."

She waited a moment, letting Lavellan process it all. He wouldn't be the Inquisitor by name, not yet, but it was a start down that path. It would be a lot for anyone to take in, especially so for a pre-teen boy. 

After careful consideration, Lavellan finally spoke up. "So, while I'm learning all this stuff, who's gonna run the Inquisition?"

"Myself, Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine," Cassandra answered honestly, "The people would prefer a single leader, I am sure, but no one of us can do that. We will lead as a team for now."

"And you guys won't be arguing all the time over how to do stuff?"

"I am sure you would butt in on the conversation and bring us around," Cassandra said, letting that smile appear for real now.

Lavellan just snickered, and before Cassandra could ask, he said, "You said butt."

The smile immediately disappeared from Cassandra's face as she made a disgusted noise. So this was her fate: to play regent to a future-Inquisitor with a sense of humor that matched his young age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mamabear!Cassandra is definitely going to be a thing in this story. Gotta protect that Herald she almost died several times for.


	4. Magic (Solas, Vivienne, Dorian)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains vague spoilers for the Trespasser DLC.

The young Lavellan was an interesting boy, if nothing else. He was Dalish, but open-minded enough that the practices and culture weren't an unyielding truth to him. He was a mage, but unskilled and untrained and clearly with some kind of a roguish background if his escape artist abilities were anything to go by. He was young, but quick-witted and energetic in a way that easily made up for any lack of wisdom his age gave him. 

It was rather unfortunate that he had gotten involved in this mess in the first place. Solas felt a touch of guilt for that, actually, he never intended for a child to get wrapped up in all of this. But out of everyone at the temple that fated day, Mahanon was probably the best outcome. A child held the future of the world in his hands, and that child needed guidance. Guidance Solas was all too willing to provide.

That touch of guilt grew whenever Solas thought of the inevitable future that this path would take him to. He tried not to think about it often.

The pair of elves were sitting in an open field close to Haven. The snow was mostly gone from the ground that far down in the valley, but the chill of winter still permeated the air. Each breath brought a small puff of air, visible for a moment before the chilly breeze dragged it away from them. 

Mahanon was frowning as he watched Solas. The silence stretched on for a while, with neither elf breaking it. Solas because he was concentrating, and Mahanon because he had been told to keep quiet. A positive change, actually, because Mahanon usually didn't listen to what adults told him. It was to be expected, given that the boy had snuck into the Conclave and all, but Solas liked to think that it was something that could be changed with the right influences.

Ironic that he would be the 'right influence' for once.

But Mahanon was starting to fidget, and Solas knew it wouldn't be long before he started questioning things, so he decided to move their magic lesson along. Holding up a hand in front of himself, Solas showed Mahanon how the glow of magic appeared in it, and then it spread over both of their bodies, covering them in a barrier. It was a simple spell, and it worked rather well with the healing that Mahanon already possessed. 

Mahanon did not seem pleased, however. "I thought you were gonna teach me fire," he said, his face still set in that frown. Though the frown looked more like a pout by now, Solas noticed.

"In due time. What we need to do now is to increase your magical abilities as quickly as possible, and that means focusing on the areas you have natural talent in." It was probably not the answer Mahanon was looking for, but it was the truth: the world wouldn't wait for Mahanon to master his magic. He needed to learn as much as he could in as short of time as possible. That meant focusing on healing and spirit-based magic.

Still, Mahanon protested it. "How's making barriers gonna help in a fight? It'll just make it a little harder to hit me, but if I can't hit back then that won't matter anyway."

"If the Inquisition is doing its job properly, then you will never need to 'hit back.' Your task is to close the rifts, and eventually the Breach. You should not be facing down any demons in the first place." And keeping the young boy out of harm's way would put Solas' mind at ease. He didn't particularly like most people, but he did have a bit of a soft spot for children, especially elf children. They were pure, innocent, untainted by the world. They were like spirits, in that way. This was especially true for Mahanon as well: he wasn't concerned about glory, or pushing an agenda, or twisting things to benefit himself. He just wanted to help. He was a rare soul indeed, and Solas felt like he should protect that innocence for as long as he could.

But Mahanon didn't look convinced. He crossed his arms in front of himself as he said, "I won't be close to any demons regardless, magic means attacking from far away."

"And you will get there, Da'len. Eventually. You are impatient, and that impatience makes it difficult to learn. If you try to learn two different kinds of magic right now- spirit magic and inferno magic, for example- then you will do poorly at both. It is far better to focus on one type and temper your willpower before moving onto the next." Solas paused for a moment, and then he smiled before adding, "And to be honest, spirit magic is far safer to learn the basics of magic with. For one, you won't burn down any buildings with an errant healing spell."

Sensing the hook for a story, Mahanon tilted his head to the side and said, "People actually do that? Setting stuff on fire, I mean."

Solas smiled. "Oh yes, they most certainly do. Magic responds to your mood, which is why being in control of yourself is so important. With your fiery personality, I fear half of Haven would burn down before you learned to control your magic."

That got a reluctant murmur of agreement out of Mahanon. Solas knew that the boy could be reasonable, if appealed to properly. So Solas continued, saying, "Focus on these lessons first. If you are trying your best, so you can build your pool of knowledge about magic. If you do, then soon you will be able to move onto the types of magic you yearn to study."

Nodding, Mahanon held up a hand the same way Solas had. Focusing on it, he tried to call up the same magic, and he managed to get it into his hand, but it sparked and fizzled out as he tried to spread it out into a barrier. Frowning, Mahanon tried again, getting the same result. "It's hard," he said, scrunching up his face in concentration as he tried a third time, "It's like spreading butter on bread, but when you try the bread just rips apart."

"An apt observation," Solas said in a praising tone, "That is one of the difficulties to casting a barrier: it is easy to gather the magic, but spreading it out evenly takes precision."

"And I guess being patient is part of it, right?"

"Exactly."

Mahanon made an irritated noise as he flopped backwards onto the grass, rubbing his face with his hands. "This is too hard," he repeated, sounding more disgruntled the second time.

"Yes, it is," Solas said calmly, not reacting to Mahanon's sudden movements, "And this is a discipline of magic that you are naturally gifted in, too. Imagine how difficult it would be if it was a discipline that goes against your nature."

Mahanon kept his hands on his face, but he peeked at Solas from between the cracks in his fingers. "Spirit magic is 'my nature'?"

"Oh yes, it most definitely is," Solas said, and he launched into a more detailed explanation before Mahanon had a chance to question him further, "You are a very kind soul, one not concerned with personal gain, or revenge, or any other negative emotion along those lines. You want to help people, and you do so without so much as a second thought. That sort of personality lends you more towards spirit magic, which is primarily focused on healing and protecting others. I dare say that, with many more years of practice, you may even be able to become a spirit healer. But this is why we are focusing on spirit magic for now: it is in your nature, so it will come more easily. Destructive magic, like fire, runs counter to your very being. It will be much more difficult for you to master."

Mahanon was clearly not happy to hear that, but he dropped that topic of conversation there. He uncovered his face but kept laying on the ground as he instead asked, "What kind of magic is 'in your nature', Solas?"

"Winter magic," Solas answered honestly, "Ice and cold have always been natural friends to me." Spirit magic also came easily, what with his special relation to the Fade and all, but Winter magic had been his first bit of magic all those years ago.

"Why? Because you're so cold towards everyone?"

It was clearly meant as a joke, Solas could see the grin on Mahanon's face, but Solas doubted that Mahanon understood how dangerously close to the truth he had actually been. So Solas just laughed and said, "You think of me as 'cold', Da'len?"

Mahanon didn't fully sit up, but instead he propped himself up on his elbows just enough so that he could look at Solas more fully. "Maybe not to me, but you're not really friendly with a lot of the people here. Especially the templars. I mean, I get why," he added quickly, "It's not really that safe for any mages right now. But you're still so…" He trailed off there, clearly struggling to think of an adequate adjective to describe Solas. 

"I believe 'cautious' is the word you're looking for," Solas suggested, which earned a shake of the head from Mahanon, "No? Maybe 'guarded', then? Or perhaps 'secretive'?"

"Nah, none of that," Mahanon said, considering this all carefully, "Let's just stay with 'cold' for now I guess." But then he waved Solas off as he added, "But that's okay, you can be cold if you wanna be. I'll learn fire magic and be the warm one."

Now there was a thought. Did Mahanon intend on 'defrosting the ice king', so to speak? He was welcome to try, but he wouldn't make much progress on that front. Solas would gladly play the role of 'kindly apostate' and tutor Mahanon in magic, but he had no intention of opening up to anyone in the inquisition, least of all the small boy who was only there because of a mistake. It wouldn't matter in a few years anyway, once his plans were complete. This was merely a minor distraction, something to keep him occupied as he worked at his own goals.

That said, he would have to work on being less 'cold', at least towards Mahanon. Even if his plans did not involve a bright future for the boy, Solas didn't feel any ill will towards him. He was just a child, after all, and a child deserved to be treated with respect and kindness. That was the least he could do, given the circumstances.

\---

It was discouraging, to see just how little people in the inquisition truly understood about magic.

The majority of the forces were made up of templars and members of the Chantry, and as such they all regarded magic in largely the same way: as a dangerous force, one that was not to be trusted. What few mages that were present in the ranks were largely treated in a standoffish way, and trusted about as far as they could be thrown. If that. Vivienne had expected that, to be honest. Magic was likely the cause for the destruction of the temple and the death of the Divine, and after several years of foolishness on the behalf of the rebel mages anyone would have distrusted magic. 

But the other half of that coin was the mages themselves, the ones that believed that the Inquisition would lead to the 'freedom' of all mages. That was the truly frustrating part of it all.

"Again, darling," Vivienne said, indicating to the second candle set up on the table in the makeshift instructional room, "This time, try to focus on the wick, not the whole candle."

The young Herald nodded, and he focused on the second candle. He was close to it, almost close enough to touch it, but his hand stayed back. He had burned himself several times already, which had resulted in a wariness on his part. A good lesson for him, Vivienne figured: the Herald seemed rather flippant about the use of his magic, and learning of the dangers it held was invaluable. Maybe then his attitudes towards the mages would finally change.

The blame did not fall entirely on his small shoulders, though. He was Dalish, and his magic had come to him after the Circles had already fallen. It was not his fault that he had never received proper training, there had never been an opportunity for him to do so. He was as any mage would be, if not taught the proper way to regard magic: unfocused, bold, and prone to making mistakes. Had he been without magic, such attitudes would not be so dangerous. But with so much riding on his ability to control himself, he didn't have the luxury of making mistakes. He needed to learn proper magic, not the frivolous tricks of an apostate.

That was why Vivienne had taken this job in the first place. She may not have been a teacher, but she knew magic well, and she had the social clout to make good use of this opportunity. Under her tutelage, the young Herald would become a fine, upstanding mage, one that would understand the importance of how things were before. And with her reputation, nobody would question the Herald's intentions. Even if he was a mage, people would trust him, because he had a fine instructor who would make sure he knew the weight of his powers.

So long as that damned apostate kept his nose out of things, at least.

"It's melting too fast," the Herald said sourly, watching as the flame shot down the candle itself, rendering it a puddle of melted wax within thirty seconds. 

"That means your flame is too strong," Vivienne said, "You have improved on the size of your fire, but now you must finesse its intensity. Even a small flame can burn strongly, if one allows it to."

"So how do I make it less-strong," the Herald asked, his attention fully on the melted wax and remains of the wick as he watched the fire burn itself out.

"You make it _weaker_ ," Vivienne said, once again subtly correcting the Herald's grammar, "by holding back. Try to imagine yourself picking up something fragile, like a glass, or perhaps an egg. If you apply too much pressure, it will break. So instead you are gentle, using only enough force to make sure you do not drop it. Magic, especially magic related to fire and ice, functions similarly."

"Like holding an egg…" The Herald let his gaze drift over to the third candle, and he stared at it, trying once more to light the candle without destroying it.

It was a good thing she had been approached about this position, Vivienne decided. The Herald had much to learn, and not just in the ways of magic. A boy of his age should have already known how to control a conversation in court, and yet he carried himself like a child still attached to his mother's skirts: Too energetic, too quick to show his emotions, and too quick to cry when things got difficult. Vivienne was not familiar with Dalish customs, but she suspected that this was a problem specific to the Herald, not to all Dalish children. He had a lot of learning to do before he could become a proper Inquisitor.

But given that the current 'leaders' of the inquisition consisted of a trio of charisma-drained dolts and one competent social advisor, Vivienne knew how important it was for these lessons to produce results quickly. Poor Josephine couldn't be expected to carry this Inquisition all on her own, after all.

And, if Vivienne were being honest with herself, she did have her own reasons for this tutelage. If a proper mage led the Inquisition, then that proper mage could help with the restoration of the Circles, a move that would definitely benefit everyone, Vivienne included. Currently the Herald seemed a bit too free-spirited to even approach such a topic rationally, but in time he would learn of the dangers of magic without control. Then, when he understood the truth, he would be a powerful ally. Vivienne was going to need powerful allies, if she was to take care of all the loyal mages. Having to make that ally herself was an arduous task, but one that she could handle. After all, the most rewarding journeys were the difficult ones.

And this journey would indeed be a difficult one, if the currently-bubbling third candle was any indication. 

\---

Dorian had to admit, he was a bit perturbed by Lavellan's request. Not that he was offended by any means, for the boy to come to him about this meant that he recognized Dorian's skill with magic. But Dorian was no teacher, nor was he an expert. He knew his own magic well, but he also knew that everyone's magic was just a little bit different, and that his methods might not work well for someone else. 

"Are you sure about this," he asked, leaning forward in his seat to address Lavellan properly. With him sitting and Lavellan standing, they were almost the same height. That made it easy to look into his eyes and see how truthful he was being.

Lavellan nodded in return. "Yeah, I'm sure. I want you to teach me magic, Dorian."

"Well I'm certainly flattered," Dorian said, injecting his usual wit and charm into his words, "But it isn't a good idea. A Dalish elf, learning magic from a Tevinter Atlus? Think of the scandal!"

Lavellan frowned at Dorian, clearly not happy with that answer. "So? Half the people who meet me think I'm a brat, and the other half pity me. It's not like I'm making friends here anyway."

"Ah, but you would be mistaken there. I have only been here a week, and already I can name a dozen individuals who would lay down their lives for you. If not more." Dorian fully understood why they would, too. Lavellan was young, yes, but his heart was in the right place. He still struggled with controlling his own fears, but when push came to shove he could actually pull through. Dorian himself had seen as much when the two of them had been temporarily pulled into the future. He was going to be an impressive man when he grew up.

If he grew up, Dorian thought suddenly. Though he immediately chased that thought away, because he didn't want to dwell on the uncertainties that war and desperation brought.

That answer didn't seem to satisfy Lavellan, though. If anything, it made his frown deepen into a scowl. "Because they pity me! They all see me as some dumb kid who needs to be protected. 'Oh, we better take care of Mahanon, it's so unfortunate that he ended up with the anchor. Better keep up the babysitting duty, we don't want him falling down and scraping his knee!'" 

Dorian had to admit, Lavellan's anger was impressive, when he got going. Normally the kid was all smiles and positive thinking, so this was a rare treat.

After a pause, though, the anger seemed to disappear, and Lavellan sounded almost tired as he continued to speak. "Solas only teaches me spirit magic because he thinks I'll hurt myself. Vivienne only teaches me what she thinks 'a proper mage' should learn because she's more worried about what other people think. They don't listen to me when I try to talk to them about the magic, and I'll never learn anything useful that way."

"And you think I'll listen to you," Dorian asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly, "That I'll treat you as an equal, that I'll respect your wishes instead of dismissing them?"

Lavellan nodded. "You already do."

Dorian had to admit, he couldn't argue with that logic. He usually did see Lavellan as somewhat of an equal, at least in some respects. Perhaps it was because of their adventures in the future, where Dorian had seen first-hand just how competent Lavellan actually was. Sometimes he even had to stop and remind himself that Lavellan really was just a child, not a particularly short adult. 

Who was to say that there wouldn't be a benefit to it, too? Lavellan was already studying two different kinds of magic- the self-taught variety learned from an apostate, and the Southern Circle approved curriculum that had lasted for several centuries- so what harm was there in throwing in a third style? Maybe Lavellan would be able to combine the three different styles into his own unique way of doing magic, and that could give him an edge in battle. Synergy of ways of magic led to unpredictability, which would only benefit Lavellan in the long run. It would be fitting of an Inquisitor too, that he would have several bags to pull tricks from.

"Alright," Dorian said finally, "You've convinced me. But I suspect we will need to keep our lessons a secret, at least for now. Neither of your other tutors seem to like me much. We wouldn't want them to think that I'm corrupting you, now would we?"

Lavellan scoffed at that thought. "Well they can go pound sand if it bothers them."

That earned a laugh from Dorian. "Well look at that! It seems as though you already have quite the mouth on yourself."

It was rare these days that Dorian felt so excited. Following after the Herald and insisting on helping the Inquisition had been the right choice after all. No matter where this path took him, it looked like it would at least be an interesting journey.


	5. Smutty Literature (Varric) (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some Not Safe For Work text in this chapter.

"Please Varric, I need to know what happens next!"

Varric sighed as he rubbed at his temple. Cassandra certainly wasn't the first fan of his writing that had gotten a touch too invested in his work, but she certainly was the most persistent. The whole 'save the world from a guy with a god-complex' thing took priority over novels, and he had hoped that she would understand when his writing had slowed to a snail's pace. Apparently not.

"Look," Varric started, "I get it. Everybody wants to know about the next great adventure our hero will have. But writing takes time, Seeker. And even when I'm done, it still has to go through my publisher first. It's not like I can just hand you a manuscript and let you have at it."

"But- but maybe you could use a proofreader-"

The door opened, and Cassandra immediately straightened up and stepped a few steps away, acting like she absolutely had not been participating in such a sad discussion mere moments ago. Varric, for his part, stayed in his chair, not particularly caring what this new party thought of their conversation. He had caught sight of that familiar mess of red hair right away, so he knew who it was. "Hey Short Stuff, what brings you here?"

Lavellan stuck his tongue out at Varric, his usual reaction to the nickname he seemed not to like. But he was not there to talk to Varric, apparently, because he instead turned his attention to Cassandra. He held up the book in his hands- some kind of educational tome Varric guessed, he had been reading a lot of those lately - and said, "Cass, I finished it."

"Oh. Good." Cassandra looked uncomfortable for a minute, and she glanced back and forth between Lavellan and Varric a couple times before she indicated to the door that led to her office as she added, "Go ahead and set it in there, the next book is on my desk."

Lavellan nodded, and he walked over and entered the office. Varric watched him leave, and as soon as the young boy had disappeared from sight Varric looked back to Cassandra, who was close to him again. This time she spoke more quietly, clearly trying not to be overheard by the boy just one room over. "If you need time to finish it, I can convince the Herald to let you stay here for a while and work."

Varric snorted at that. "And who would go in my place, exactly? You don't like Chuckles or Sparkler, and as talented as Buttercup is with that bow of hers I get the feeling you don't like her either."

"There are plenty of options, so if you need the time it would be no trouble to-" 

Once again Cassandra stood up and stepped away, making Varric glance over at the doorway once more. There was Lavellan, a new book under his arm, staring at Cassandra with a raised eyebrow. After a moment he looked to Varric, who in turn shrugged. He didn't have any answers to give that kid either. That just earned a dramatic sigh from Lavellan, though. "Well don't stop your talking because of me," he grumbled as he strolled across the room, pulling the door shut with a bit more force than he usually did.

After staring at the closed door for a moment, both Varric and Cassandra cast each other a glance. Varric was the first to speak, saying, "Now that was all your fault." He wasn't about to take the blame for Lavellan's sour mood.

In response, Cassandra just made a disgruntled noise.

\---

Varric didn't know anything wrong had happened until a few days later. He had managed to get himself some quiet time to work on his writing, and he had been making some good progress on it too. With any luck the next chapter of 'Hard in Hightown' would be ready to go in another two weeks or so. The first draft was mostly done, and he was just working on the editing at that point.

His work was interrupted by a rather nosy Herald who thought that he could just walk in to anyone's office whenever he wanted to. It was lucky that he was absolutely adorable and hit on Varric's need to be paternal, or else he might have gotten yelled at for that. As it was, Varric just picked up his quill and shot the nosy kid a questioning look as he said, "What, you're going to be a critic now too?"

Lavellan quickly shook his head, his eternally-messy hair bobbing back and forth as he did so. "Nah, not today. Got time for a question?"

"Well you already asked one, but I'll let you ask two," Varric said, grinning as he set his quill aside, "What's on your mind?"

"What's an ay-pend-ah-gee?" 

It was a weird pronunciation of the word, and Varric had to work through it a couple times in his mind, but suddenly it clicked and he said, "Oh, you mean 'appendage'. That means a body part, like an arm, or a leg, something like that."

"Oh." But that clearly didn't answer Lavellan's question, because a moment later he said, "So a 'throbbing appendage' is…?"

Oh. Oh shit. That grin quickly fell off of Varric's face. "Where did you read that?"

"A book," Lavellan said innocently, "The one Cass let me borrow. So what is it? Arms and legs don't really throb, right? And whatever it is, it's going into some lady's garden, so maybe it is a hand? But why is it throbbing, and why are they so excited about gardening?"

"Do you, by chance, have that book with you?" Varric had a feeling that he already knew what had happened, and his thoughts were confirmed when Lavellan held up the book and Varric could see the cover. Of course Cassandra had left 'Swords and Shields' out on her desk. Of course. But knowing the Seeker, she probably hadn't done that on purpose. Varric couldn't imagine her approving of a young boy reading something like that.

But hey, if Cassandra was going to just leave her smutty romance books out like that for anyone to find, then she could handle the consequences. "Tell you what: I'm a little busy with work right now, but I bet the Seek- I bet Cassandra would be willing to explain it to you. That's one of her favorite books, after all."

Lavellan frowned at Varric. "But you _wrote_ it."

"I did! But Cassandra's better at explaining things, isn't she?"

"Dorian's better than her actually. Should I go ask him?"

"Nah, he doesn't read this stuff. Trust me, Cassandra's the one to talk to." Varric almost felt bad for the mess he was dumping in her lap.

Almost.

\---

He didn't regret it until later in the day, when he was standing around with the Bull and Sera (and Cole hiding up in a nearby tree watching them, but he was being quiet so Varric let him be) and chatting it up with them. It was getting later in the day, almost late enough to head out to the bar, and Varric was considering calling for a game of cards that night. At least, he was considering it up until he saw a furious Cassandra storming over in his direction, with a very confused Lavellan following after her, running to keep up with her pace.

"Uh oh," Bull said, and he and Sera stepped back a few paces, leaving Varric to face Cassandra's wrath alone.

As she crossed the last twenty feet or so to reach Varric, she started pointing at him accusingly as she practically shouted, "You wretched, disgusting, horrible little man! How dare you let the Herald read something like that?!" Interestingly enough, as she got closer Varric was able to see the flush of embarrassment that was coloring her face.

Varric quickly held up his hands defensively. "Woah now, I didn't give him anything! Short Stuff got the book from you, not me."

"But he went to you about it! You could have taken it from him, but instead you let him keep it!" That finger was practically in Varric's face, and Cassandra was seething.

Varric hadn't seen the Seeker this mad in a while, and for a moment he wondered if he had really done something terrible. But ultimately he decided that no, this wasn't that bad. Cassandra was just over-reacting. "Look," he said finally, "It obviously didn't hurt the kid. See? He's as bright-eyed as always."

He actually looked a little upset, now that Varric had taken a moment to consider Lavellan, but he didn't point that out. No need to add more fuel to Cassandra's fire.

Well, _he_ didn't add any more fuel to that fire. The others, however… "What's that you've got?" Sera learned in a little to get a better look at the cover, though she still kept her distance from both Varric and Cassandra. Ready to run if things got messy, clearly. "Is that one of them dirty books? The ones about bouncing tits and naughty bits?"

" _You_ stay out of this," Cassandra said quickly, turning on Sera, "The Herald is right here, and he's not old enough to hear any of this!"

That was when Lavellan tried to speak up, though his words went unheard by at least Cassandra. "Um, actually, I'm not-"

"So," Sera said accusingly, apparently not hearing Lavellan either, "He's big enough to fight demons, yeah? Who cares if he sees some tits. They’re great, I bet he'd like 'em."

"This is not language to use around the Herald, and I would appreciate it if you stopped now," Cassandra snapped.

Lavellan tried once again to insert himself in the conversation, saying, "It's not that big of a deal-"

The Iron Bull crossed his arms in front of himself, but he kept a good attitude about the 'discussion'. "She has a point, you know. Boys at his age are usually already having thoughts like that, it's nothing too out of the ordinary."

"But that doesn't mean we can just throw smutty literature at him," Cassandra said, now expressing her displeasure at all three of the adults there, "He is a child! Children have no business hearing about anything like that!"

"LISTEN TO ME!"

All four of them fell silent and turned their attention to Lavellan, whose face was nearly as red as his hair. It was rare to see him that angry, Varric realized. Usually he got too emotional and started crying before he ever got truly angry. Maybe the embarrassment over the topic was keeping those tears back.

When Lavellan continued talking, his voice was quieter, back to a normal speaking volume. But the anger was still there, and his words sounded harsh. "I'm not stupid, I know what sex is! I have five little brothers and sisters. FIVE. Mom and Dad explained that stuff by the third time she got fat with a baby! And it's not like those Dalish tents do much for keeping noises out either! Just because I don't know all the gross words you weird grown-ups come up with to talk about sex doesn't mean I don't know what it is!"

Then he started pointing at all of them, sweeping his finger around at the group accusingly. "You're all weird, you're all gross, and if you-" his finger stopped on Varric. "-had just explained it when I asked then none of this would've happened!"

Then Lavellan made an irritated noise and stormed off, no doubt going somewhere to vent for a bit.

Varric and the others stood there for a moment, all of them too stunned by that outburst to speak at first. It was The Iron Bull who broke the silence though, saying, "Do you think he really knows?"

A voice from up in a nearby tree spoke down to them softly, in a voice that was almost inaudible, " _Kissing, cuddling, clinging to each other. Making strange noises that sound like a fight, but it's not. And then later, a baby. Is that what adults really do? Why do they like it so much?_ " Varric looked up just in time to see Cole frown thoughtfully before speaking again. "I don't think he understands. What he sees is not what The Iron Bull sees."

The Iron Bull snorted at that. "Yeah, I bet he doesn't."

"I could help," Cole offered, "I could tell him, so you don't have to say the words."

" **No** ," Cassandra said firmly, "We will not be discussing this further. This is the end of it."

It was then that Varric decided that this was definitely going to be its own chapter in his book about the Inquisition. He had already written romance and mystery books, clearly it was time for a comedy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, he says all of that now, but wait until puberty hits him.


	6. Birthday (Lavellan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Minor spoilers for the Trespasser DLC

His first eleven birthdays had passed without much notice. They were celebrated, of course: small, quiet celebrations with his parents and siblings, where they had good food and special treats gotten from trades with the humans. It was usually when Mahanon got new clothes as well, if he had not already outgrown his previous year's clothing. But birthdays were a small affair, meant for only the closest of families. The one real big celebration would be on his eighteenth, when he went through the rite to get his vallaslin and became an adult. Besides that, birthdays were not a particularly important occasion to the Dalish. And so Mahanon grew used to not expecting big things on his birthday. It was just like any other day, except with the promise of apples and strawberries after dinner.

That was as it was in the clan, and that was all Mahanon expected. He was eager for his eighteenth birthday, but otherwise he didn't spend much time thinking about birthdays.

\---

Oh his twelfth birthday, Mahanon received his first real birthday gift: a staff, made smaller than standard to suit his small stature. He was only learning the basics of magic, but that didn't mean he should be without a staff, and his parents had gone through the effort of getting one just his size. 

For weeks after, Mahanon had been found with it in his hands. Not to cast magic, but rather to appreciate it, to regard it fondly as his hands trailed over the smooth wood. So much love and care had gone into it, and he couldn't help but stare at it. This was his. It was his first real gift, a present from his parents. Parents he would have to leave eventually, if only because his clan had no need for a Second. And when he did have to leave, when he became the First of another clan, it would keep him safe. 

The love of his family, made real by that staff, kept Mahanon safe for many years afterward.

\---

His thirteenth birthday had passed in a miserable wreck of a coastline, with weeks lost trying to track down lost wardens and missing scouting parties and a band of mercenaries that was offering their services. It wasn't until they were well on their way back, said mercenaries in tow, that Mahanon was reminded of his birthday.

"It's still hard to believe that the supposed Herald of Andraste is a ten-year-old kid," one of the mercenaries- Krem, if Mahanon's memory was correct- said. It was clearly meant to be heard by the leader, The Iron Bull, but Mahanon was walking close enough to them to hear it too. As was Cassandra, judging by the look that snapped onto her face at that moment.

"Twelve-year-old kid," Mahanon said, automatically correcting Krem as he had corrected so many people in the past. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he realized that he was mistaken. "Wait, no, thirteen."

"Thirteen?" Varric gave Mahanon a curious look, "What, is it your birthday or something?"

"It was…" Mahanon drew out that last syllable for a moment, quickly doing the math in his head. How long had it been since the Conclave, exactly? "…about a week ago, I think? It's right at the start of spring." That was how he always remembered it, at least. When the flowers started to bloom on the trees, that was when he was a year older.

"Well why didn't you say something sooner dear," Vivienne said, her words as careful and measured as usual. They did sound slightly surprised, and in a genuine way too. "We could have had a party for you."

In response, Mahanon shrugged. "It's not a big deal, you know? The only one that really matters is eighteen, since that's when I get my vallaslin and all."

"So what you are saying is that you have never had a proper birthday party?" Vivienne cast a quick glance over to Cassandra. Nobody had officially taken up the job of 'guardian of Mahanon', but Cassandra generally had the lion's share of the responsibility there. Though Solas did try to butt in on decisions sometimes, citing that an elf would know what was better for a young elf. Those arguments never ended well.

Cassandra, for her part, shook her head. "No. If what you are imagining is one of those Orlesian balls, the Inquisition doesn't have the funds to host a party like that."

"A pity," Vivienne said sourly, though she left it at that. Mahanon had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at her; she was independently wealthy, she probably could have paid for the party herself, but that would have meant spending her resources.

A large, firm hand clapped down on Mahanon's shoulder, drawing an undignified yelp out of the small boy. He looked up, and he saw the Iron Bull standing there, grinning. "I'd say this calls for a celebration. Even if it's not one of those fancy rich-people parties, we can still work up something good, right boys?"

That last part was directed at the Chargers, who all whooped and hollered. Krem, the second-in-command, just said, "You'd take any excuse to get drunk." It was scathing, but said in the same way friends might talk to each other.

The Iron Bull just laughed and winked at Krem. A weird action, Mahanon thought, since Bull only had one eye to begin with. Was he actually blinking then?

Cassandra tried to protest, but Varric just nudged her and said, "It'll be fun. Nothing bad's going to happen to him, Haven is full of people who practically kiss the ground he walks on. And if you're there you can keep an eye on him anyway."

As it turned out, the Iron Bull's idea of a party was to go to the bar and get roaring drunk. An activity that Mahanon probably shouldn't have been involved in, but somehow he ended up drinking way too much beer that night. Even when he had nearly choked on the flavor, the Chargers had cheered for him anyway. 'It'll put hair on your chest,' one of Bull's men had said. It was only later, as he was being carted off to bed by Cassandra before he could break anything, that he realized what a silly thought that was. Mahanon was an elf, and elves didn't grow body hair in the first place.

He tried to tell Cassandra as much, since she was giving him a piggyback ride home (with Varric walking next to her, ready to catch him if he fell out of her arms), but the words didn't seem to come out right. Or, well, they made perfect sense to Mahanon, but nobody else seemed to get what he was saying. Instead of understanding Mahanon's thoughts, Cassandra made an irritated noise as she said, "I knew this was a mistake."

"C'mon," Varric said in response, a streak of sadness mixed in with his laughs and generally-good-humor, "Let the kid live a little. He probably doesn't have that many birthdays left anyway, so we should make each one count." 

The next morning, Mahanon claimed to have no memory of the night before. Everyone accepted that answer, but for a few weeks after Mahanon became harder to find, especially after dark. When asked, Mahanon always said he was busy, but that he was alright.

He tried to forget the pitying looks he got from Varric every time he said that, too.

\---

His fourteenth birthday was a much quieter affair. After a year of fighting Corypheus, a year of trying everything they could to undermine his power, everyone was tired. Mahanon especially was tired. He was tired of fighting every day. He was tired of never being able to please everyone with the choices he made. He was tired of people dying because of his decisions- and they were his decisions, even if his advisors had done their job and made suggestions he had usually been the deciding vote in matters. But most of all, he was tired of being scrutinized all the time.

So on his fourteenth birthday, Mahanon spent the day hiding on the roof of the tavern, watching people come and go. 

Sera had stopped by for a while, but even she eventually became bored with his one-word answers and let him be after making a face at him. Other than that, Mahanon sat alone with only his thoughts to keep him company.

That lasted for several hours, though it ended late in the afternoon when Mahanon felt the all-too familiar pull at the Fade that signaled Cole's approach. Even as he became more and more human, some parts of him would always be spirit-like. Cole's connection to the Fade was one of those things. Human as Cole may be now, Mahanon could practically smell the fade on the strange spirit-turned-human.

"Sneaking up on people is rude, you know," Mahanon said, breaking the silence.

"I'm sorry," Cole said, awkwardly standing on the roof and tugging at the hem of his shirt. He better be careful, Mahanon thought to himself, or else he might end up ripping his shirt doing that.

"It won't, I know where not to pull."

Oh. Right. His thoughts weren't his own, not when Cole was around.

Cole looked away again. "Sorry."

Reprimanding Cole for it would have been about as effective as telling The Iron Bull not to drink, so Mahanon decided against it. Instead he asked, "Why are you up here?"

"Your thoughts are loud," Cole said simply.

"I thought it was harder to do now," Mahanon said, turning to look at Cole curiously. After that 'adventure' with the templar and Varric and Solas, Cole had started to change. It had afforded everyone a bit more privacy- supposedly Cole had to be really close to someone to hear their thoughts now- but now Mahanon was wondering if that was true or not.

"It is harder, for new people. But you are not new. Familiar, friendly, always trying to help others, but never asking for help in return." Cole tilted his head towards Mahanon, a familiar gesture that Mahanon instantly recognized as Cole doing 'the mind-reading thing'. But instead of giving a long diatribe about whatever problem was weighing on Mahanon's mind, he frowned in apparent confusion. "Birthday…?"

"Oh, yeah, it's my birthday," Mahanon answered, "But it's no big deal, it's just my fourteenth. I guess it is to the humans? But the Dalish don't really celebrate birthdays like that, outside of the ones that matter."

"Eighteen is the one that matters."

"Yeah."

"You don't think you'll make it to that one."

"…yeah."

Suddenly Cole was crouching down near where Mahanon sat, bringing them to about the same height. "You don't want to die. You're scared of the Anchor, of what will happen when it grows up your arm and reaches your heart. You think it will devour you, and that frightens you."

"Look, can we talk about literally anything else right now?"

Instead of answering Mahanon's rather hurried question, Cole reached out and carefully set his hand on top of Mahanon's head. It was almost like how some of the adults ruffled his hair, except Cole's hand wasn't moving. Though almost immediately after he thought that thought, Cole started moving his hand side to side, more like he was polishing the floor than patting Mahanon's head.

Then Cole spoke again. "It's alright. Solas doesn't want you to die either."

Mahanon was trying his best not to frown or get mad at Cole. The whole 'human' thing was hard for him, Mahanon knew that, and any frustration he felt would only lead to hurt feelings later. Thankfully a year in the Inquisition had taught him to better control his temper. "As glad as I am to hear that, why would his opinion matter? Solas can't stop this thing."

Cole didn't respond to that, and the pair sat there as the silence stretched out between them. Normally Mahanon would have tried to fill the silence with some kind of talk, but he just didn't feel up to it at that moment.

Before too long, the sound of yelling could be heard below Mahanon's perch. He glanced down, Cole's hand moving with his head motion, and he said, "What's going on in there?"

"Cassandra is mad at The Iron Bull," Cole answered immediately, "The Iron Bull wanted to give you a dirty book for your birthday. Cassandra disagreed. She still feels shame about the time before."

For the first time that day, Mahanon managed to laugh. It was a short one, and it had a touch of rawness to it, but it was a laugh nonetheless. "I guess I should be glad he doesn't want to give me a night with one of the barmaids."

"That's next year's gift." 

Mahanon made a disgusted noise, not unlike the ones Cassandra made all the time.

Cole pulled his hand back from Mahanon's head, and then he let it fall to his side as he said, " _'I can't do it, not like that. It's gross and weird and I don't want to. Not without liking them first.'_ I could help."

Mahanon shook his head. "Nah, that's something I should talk to him about. But thanks, Cole." 'Thanks for thinking about me,' he added silently, and a moment later a small smile appeared on Cole's face. 

\---

Mahanon did not celebrate his fifteenth birthday. With Corypheus gone, most of his friends had either returned to their former lives or moved on to new duties. A few remained- Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine where the most notable ones- but every week familiar faces were replaced by new ones. Sometimes it was too much for Mahanon, and he had to sit down to keep his head from spinning.

With Cassandra acting as the new Divine, and with Mahanon having played a key role in killing Corypheus, there had been no question as to what would happen to the young elf. After everything that had happened, not many people questioned the thought of a teenage boy being the Inquisitor. His quite literal 'trial by fire' had proved his worth a thousand times over. Mahanon had always thought that the Anchor was what made him special, but he was gradually beginning to figure out that Cassandra had been right before, that he had a gift with his words, and that he could get people to listen to him. Even if he was young, he made a fine Inquisitor. His capacity to care for pretty much anyone and everyone alive certainly helped with that.

But Mahanon had no patience for any of that on that day. Instead he spent the majority of the day hiding in his room, being reclusive and reading books. He had letters to write, one to Dorian and one to Varric, but that could wait until tomorrow. For now, all that was on his mind was relaxing and trying not to think about the hideous green glow that was creeping up his arm.

The presents left outside his door, one each from his treasured advisors, helped with that too. A book of poetry from Josephine, a chess set from Cullen, and a new cloak from Leliana. All fine gifts, in his mind. He would have to thank them later, when he wasn't so busy trying not to think about his impending death.

\---

His sixteenth birthday started the same way his thirteenth had: in the middle of a flurry of activity as he tried desperately to keep the Inquisition from going under.

"Do I really have to get more adjustments done," Mahanon said irritably as he stood on the platform with his dress uniform on. His arms were out to his sides, letting the tailor measure them carefully and make adjustments as needed.

Josephine was the only adviser there with him, and she was all too happy to explain just about anything court-related to Mahanon. "This is a very important meeting, one that could very well decide the future of the Inquisition. You need to look absolutely perfect for it, and the fact that you are outgrowing your uniforms as fast as we can tailor them is…causing a few problems, to put it gently."

"It's not my fault I finally hit my growth spurt," Mahanon said, frowning.

"It is not, and actually it is a very good thing. You have the heart of an Inquisitor, but your youthful looks had always been a hindrance to negotiations. Now you at least look like an adult, so the nobles may take you more seriously."

"Well at least that's going right," Mahanon muttered under his breath. If Josephine heard him, she did not react to it.

As the tailor finished up her tasks, taking the new measurements in hand to further alter the uniform later, the doors to Mahanon's chambers opened. In strode Cullen and Leliana, the former carrying a stack of plates and forks while the latter had a plate with a small cake on it. Judging by the look on Josephine's face, she had known about this little get-together as well.

Mahanon could guess at what was going on, and he grinned as he said, "What? All of this, for me?"

"Well we did miss your last two," Cullen said sheepishly, "So it felt like we needed to celebrate."

"I'm touched, really. But is now the time for this?" They had less than two weeks until they all had to appear in Val Royeaux, and Mahanon knew that the impending meeting weighed heavily on everyone's minds.

"Now is the best time for it," Leliana said as she set the cake down on Mahanon's desk, "It is your actual birthday today, and as Cullen said we missed the last few. Even the one we celebrated wasn't on the right day. And besides that, you looked like you could use a distraction from thoughts of our upcoming trip."

Mahanon had to admit, she did have a point. It was hard to be anxious about anything if you were focused on something else. He really could have used a distraction right then.

Leliana had been wrong about one thing, though. While the meeting in Val Royeaux did weigh heavily on Mahanon's mind, it wasn't his primary concern. No, the thoughts that he fought to suppress were ones of glowing green marks and dull, pulsing pain. With the cake and the chatter, he tried not to think about the sickly green veins that wound their way up his arm, extending to just past his elbow. He tried not to think about the now-constant throbbing, or about how the tips of his fingers had started to go numb. He tried not to think about his friends, spread out over Thedas, who would likely not see him again until his body was brought to the funeral pyres. If there was a body left at all, after the Anchor had claimed his life.

Instead, he smiled, and he silently wished that he would get to have another cake with this trio of true friends in a year's time.


	7. Changing the Future (Dorian)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: canon-typical violence and a child's reaction to said violence is present in this chapter.

He had heard the rumors long before meeting the party from the Inquisition. The so-called 'Herald of Andraste' was rumored to be a lot of things, but the words 'elf', 'mage', and 'probably should still be clinging to his mother's skirts' were the most common ones. The first two were surprising, though not unexpected. Given Andraste's own past with slavery, it made sense in a weird way that she would choose someone who had been so completely disregarded by the rest of the world to be its savior. It was ironic, really. So many powerful men and women had thought the elves were of little consequence, a strange race meant to be servants or perpetually poverty-stricken. Many of those same men and women saw mages as an ever-present threat as well, one that needed to be controlled, or wiped out entirely.

But that last one, that was what threw Dorian for a loop. It was spoken of often in the rumors, so it must have had some validity to it, but he couldn't imagine that Andraste would choose a literal child to be her Herald. No, it had to be a misunderstanding. Elves were notorious for being baby-faced and hard to put an age to, so perhaps he was really an adult but just looked young. That would make more sense.

Of course, when Dorian and Felix conspired to invite the Herald to the Chantry for a secret meeting, he quickly found out just how valid those rumors were. Yes, Mahanon Lavellan was an elf. Yes, he was a mage. And while 'clinging to his mother's skirts' was probably stretching the truth a bit, he was indeed quite young. Young enough to make Dorian question the 'help' that the Inquisition had to offer.

"Ha! So the rumors were right after all, you really are a half-pint hero," Dorian said, forcing out his usual charm. Even if he had his doubts, he couldn't let anyone know about them. No, he had to put up a friendly front. There was no need to prematurely make enemies.

Though he might have done just that, if the Herald's reaction was anything to go by. The young elf practically glowered at Dorian, saying, "You better not have called me out here just to insult me."

Dorian couldn't help but laugh at that. Oh, he certainly was a feisty one! And judging by the knowing grin on his companion dwarf's face, this was a routine behavior for him. Perhaps he had a short temper, and Dorian had just stumbled upon the best way to provoke it. "Not at all," Dorian said gracefully, "Actually, I have a proposition for you. The Magister you spoke to before, Alexius? He is not all he seems to be."

\---

It was all wrong. Everything. Dorian understood the basics of it- he had studied time travel alongside Alexius for many years- but that didn't help at all with the feeling of absolute dread that filled his very being. Everything was _wrong_ and he wanted to be done with it. Preferably now.

But Dorian couldn't just rush ahead and figure out just where and when he had been sent. He hadn't been the only one flung into the far future, after all. Unfortunately for him, it was looking more and more like his companion on this journey in time was going to end up being dead weight. "I do appreciate the barriers," Dorian said, choosing his words carefully, "But can you do anything else?"

The young Herald was standing nearby, holding onto his small staff tightly as he tried his best not to look at the dead soldiers in the corner of the room. Soldiers they had just killed not even a minute ago. In an unconfident voice, the Herald offered, "I can light candles?"

Dorian had to fight to keep from making a disgusted noise there. The Herald was a child, of course he wouldn't have experience in fighting with magic! And if his magic was limited to barriers and parlor tricks, then this was going to be an uphill battle indeed. Dorian didn't like it one bit, and a tiny voice in the back of his mind was telling him to give up on the child and try to find his own way back. What good would he do anyway? Magic glowing mark or no, he was just one child. Surely the Breach could be dealt with in other ways.

But he couldn't just leave him there either. As much as he hated to admit it, he actually did have a heart, and even the thought of leaving the Herald behind to face a probable death was enough to make him feel bad. No, he had to at least try. If he failed then he failed, but he couldn't just give up and make a false claim of 'trying his best'. Not when children were involved.

"I suppose your barriers will have to do, then," Dorian said finally, "Stay close, and try not to get us noticed. My magic can only do so much, so we will need to be sneaky."

The Herald nodded quickly, and he followed after Dorian like an obedient puppy. He was used to following others, no doubt. At least he was lucky enough to be following someone who actually wanted to keep him safe. That trustworthiness was dangerous.

\---

Finding Grand Enchanter Fiona had shaken the Herald to the core. Even if he tried not to show it, Dorian could see it in the way his hands continued to shake even after they had left that grouping of cells. Dorian himself had been stunned by it, but the Herald looked downright terrified. He was able to keep up with Dorian as they moved through Redcliffe Castle, but he was jumpy and unfocused. Fear was starting to take hold of him, and that was especially dangerous for a young mage. Dorian just hoped that the Herald didn't end up drawing fear demons to their location. They already had enough problems to deal with.

But if finding Fiona had shaken him, then finding the Seeker and that dwarf nearly crushed him.

"Varric…?" The Herald seemed stunned into disbelief, slowly raising a hand up towards the bars. 

The dwarf in the cage managed a small smile- probably the first genuine smile in ages, Dorian realized- and he in turn held up a hand, reaching out and taking a hold of the Herald's. Somehow the Herald's hand seemed small when held like that. "Hey Short Stuff," the dwarf said, "I didn't expect to see you again."

"What happened to you," the Herald asked, "You're all…glowy, and red."

"A lot's happened since you disappeared. Let's just say it's been a wild ride, one that I never want to repeat."

The Herald nodded at that, and he let go of the dwarf's hand, instead turning his attention to the lock on the cage. It was at that moment that Dorian found out that the Herald of Andraste knew how to pick locks. That would have been useful to know an hour or two ago.

The cage door swung open, and the dwarf stepped out. "The Seeker should be nearby," he said, taking a moment to ruffle the Herald's hair in a friendly gesture, "Let's go find her."

The Seeker looked even worse than the dwarf did. Though the Herald seemed to not want to accept the truth of their situation- he was too busy hugging the Seeker tightly and fighting back tears- it was clear to Dorian that neither of them had much longer to live. They would be helpful in the fight against Alexius, and their presence would make it easier to keep the Herald safe.

"No," the Seeker said, drawing Dorian's attention away from his thoughts. That was when he saw a familiar glow around the Herald's hand- the glow of healing magic, rather than the sickly green glow of the mark that closed rifts- as well as the hand that the Seeker was holding up to stop him. "That won't help me now. Save it for later, you may need it for you or the other mage here."

Dorian tried not to be off-put at having his name forgotten. An entire year had passed, after all, of course they wouldn't remember him. Not through the torture and the red lyrium and all.

The Herald seemed upset, but he relented. "I'll save you," he said, dropping his spell and pulling his hand back, "Me and Dorian are gonna find a way back to our time, and I'll make sure this never happens. I promise."

Just as with the dwarf, a small smile appeared on the Seeker's face. "Then I will make sure you get to that past safely," she said.

Dorian was honestly surprised to see the two of them go along with the Herald without a second thought. His words sounded sincere, but surely anyone could see that he had no way to follow through with his ill-thought promises. Dorian certainly intended on it, but he was at least not foolish enough to promise results. But these two were listening to the Herald, not him. He seemed to have charmed them in some way, and it made Dorian curious.

He decided to save the questions for later, though.

\---

The fight with Alexius was a long one, and it was only though careful planning and liberal use of the Herald's barrier spell and healing spells that they managed to succeed. 

Alexius was on his last legs, breathing heavily, holding his stomach to try and cover up a particularly nasty gut wound. Everyone in the party- which included Leliana, a fifth member they had picked up on their way to the throne room- was winding up for a final attack, one that would put Alexius down for good. And when that was done, Dorian could finally get the amulet and work on sending himself and the Herald to the past. Just one more attack, that was all they needed.

"Wait!"

Everyone stopped. The Herald stepped forward, a little scorched from the fight and clearly tired from using so much magic. He walked up to Alexius, even as the Seeker reached out to stop him. The Herald pulled away from her, and insisted on walking up to the fallen Magister.

"You don't have to do this."

Dorian's eyebrow jumped up to his hairline in utter confusion. Was this elf really trying to reason with a Magister gone mad?

"It hurts, to have someone die like that, especially when they're family. I know, I've felt it too."

The Herald stopped walking, and he stood in front of Alexius, only a few feet between himself and the exhausted Magister. Then, the Herald held out a hand. His right hand, specifically.

"Let me help you. This is all because of time magic, right? Send us back, and I'll set things right. This future, it doesn't have to happen."

Alexius, broken and beaten, let out a pathetic sob. "That won't fix anything. My son will still die!"

"Maybe. Or maybe we'll find a way to save him too, just like we'll save everyone else." 

Amazingly enough, those words that seemed to ring with sincerity made Alexius hesitate. That was more than Dorian had seen anyone get out of Alexius, save for Felix of course. He sounded so sincere that Dorian found himself believing those words too: that they could find a way, even if it seemed impossible.

Was this the effect that the Herald had on everyone? If so, then Dorian could understand why everyone was so taken by him.

"…alright," Alexius said, finally giving in to the emotional appeal, "For Felix's sake. Give me a moment, and I will send you back."

Suddenly there was a loud banging on the hall door, and all attention was turned to it. "You may not have a moment," the dwarf said, preparing his crossbow to take another shot.

"Prepare the magic," the Seeker said, turning and walking towards the doors, "We'll give you as much time as we can. And you-" she paused to point at Dorian. "-keep Lavellan safe."

Dorian nodded and said, "I will do my best," and he placed a hand on the Herald's shoulder. 

The Herald pulled away, though, and started to follow after the Seeker. As he moved, Dorian reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping him. The Herald struggled against the hold, and he called out, "Wait, Cass, don't do this!"

"Be strong, Herald," the Seeker said, and Dorian could have sworn that there was a tinge of sadness to her voice, "Let me be your shield once more."

"Go," the worn-down spymaster said as she readied her bow, "This will all be for naught if you die here. Go back to the past and keep this future from even happening. That is what you can do, Lavellan."

The Herald struggled more, saying 'no' over and over again as his breathing became quicker and shorter, a sure sign that tears were coming. But Dorian held strong, and he started dragging the Herald back over to Alexius, who was already working his magic. 

The doors to the throne room burst open, and several soldiers and demons poured in. The Seeker, the dwarf, and the spymaster all began their attack, fighting to stall the onslaught of demons in a final standoff.

"Dorian, bring him over here," Alexius said, "The spell won't work if you're too far away."

"No," the Herald screamed, and he tried to pull away. Dorian held tight.

The Seeker was the first to fall, run through by the sword of one of the soldiers. A cry rang out through the throne room, and it took Dorian a moment to realize that the scream was coming from the Herald, not from the fallen hero.

"Dorian, now!"

The Herald was practically sobbing by then. "No, please, let me help them!"

Dorian reached down and picked the Herald up, throwing him over his shoulder. Then he ran towards Alexius and the rift he was starting to form.

The dwarf was the second to fall, losing his head (quite literally) to one of the many demons. He was dead before he even hit the ground.

The Herald's cries had turned to screaming as he begged Dorian to let him go, to let him help his friends. Dorian did his best to ignore it and hold onto the Herald, trying to keep him from wriggling out of his grasp.

The spymaster lasted much longer than the other two, burying arrow after arrow into enemies, until they reached her and she had to start hitting them with her bow. Finally, surrounded by demons that clawed at her, ripping her apart, the spymaster fell.

Dorian swore he saw the mark on the Herald's hand lash out, as if the magic of the Breach itself was reacting to the Herald's desire to reach back, to save his fallen friends. But maybe it was the magic of the rift itself, Dorian couldn't be sure. All he could do was keep his stony face contained as he stepped through the rift, an absolutely broken Herald in his hands.

\---

They had been able to subdue Alexius quickly. The Herald's rather emotional display had been more than enough to catch everyone off-guard, giving the Inquisition agents time to sneak behind Alexius and restrain him. And then the king had arrived, and a whole lot had been decided in a short amount of time. The Herald was in no position to even think about things as complicated as 'what to do with the rebel mages'. As soon as he had seen that the Seeker was alive and well, he had torn himself from Dorian's grasp and ran to her, firmly attaching himself to her side. Dorian doubted that his sobbed words were clear enough for anyone to understand what he had just gone through, so Dorian would probably have to explain it. Later, though, because he was tired. Tired, and dirty, and he wanted a bath so badly.

Fortunately the Herald had the presence of mind to request that the mages join as equals, rather than be conscripted. That was one of the few truly 'good' decisions of that night. And with how nobody else really fought against what the Herald had to say, it had been decided quickly. The Inquisition would have its mages, and the mages would have some semblance of freedom under the Inquisition. Even if it was largely staffed by templars, the Herald was still a mage, and he had quite a bit of sway. Dorian had no doubts in his mind that the Herald would use the secret stash to keep the mages fed and clothed.

Dorian followed the group back to Haven. He hadn't been invited, specifically, but he knew he had to go. He still didn't quite understand the Herald; he was a mage, but he wanted to protect everyone. He was an elf, and a Dalish elf at that, but he didn't seem particularly insular. And perhaps most importantly he was a child, and he knew just what to say to win people over.

Even if that future may have been leading to his inevitable death, Dorian wanted to see where this path went. Because the Herald- no, because _Mahanon_ had a gift with words, and his large heart seemed to win everyone over.

Dorian had to know how it worked, and he insisted on staying with the Inquisition. Because if he understood Mahanon, if he was right about Mahanon's presence being the one that changed everything, then he was alright with that. Better to have a weak-yet-trained mage travelling with you, rather than facing down the uncertain future without the promise of healing.

And friendship, of course. You couldn't forget about the friendship, especially not when Lavellan was included.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The start of a great friendship. Lavellan likes everyone, but he especially likes Dorian. Or he will, in the near future.


	8. Borrowing a Bed (Lavellan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains spoilers for the Trespasser DLC.

Cassandra had been the first victim of the 'bed borrower'. 

He hadn't even meant to bother her, he had honestly thought that he had found Solas' tent. But it was dark at night in Haven, and he hadn't been able to see just who was laying in the bedroll. Truthfully he was a bit too shaken up to think clearly about it much anyway, which may have contributed to his mistake. But as soon as he had scooted into her bedroll and curled up next to her, he realized that the body he was laying next to was most definitely not Solas, not unless he had suddenly grown boobs and a head full of hair in the middle of the night.

The shriek that followed was also a good indication.

That night Mahanon was sent back to his own quarters, and a guard was posted outside, to make sure he didn't sneak off again. It definitely didn't help improve Cassandra's mood, either. She had run him ragged with his training for weeks afterwards, both to tire him out to the point where he didn't wander at night and to serve as penance for all the snickers and snide comments she was getting for her reaction to a child crawling into bed with her.

Mahanon felt that it was unfair, so he decided to avoid her tent in the future.

\---

The next time, Mahanon took care to actually find Solas' tent. The older elf was sleeping when Mahanon snuck in, but had awoken before Mahanon even touched the covers. "What are you doing?"

Mahanon jumped, and he immediately pulled his hand back, as if he had been burned by fire. "I just- it's- I didn't mean to-"

Solas pulled himself up to sitting. "There is no need to be frightened, Da'len. You are not in trouble." Solas' expression was obscured by the darkness of the night, but his voice sounded warm, and it made Mahanon relax.

"I couldn't sleep," he answered honestly.

"Ah." Solas paused, then questioned him further. "A nightmare?"

Mahanon nodded, but then he remembered that it was dark, so he spoke up. "Yeah. I…dreams are different now, with the magic. The Keeper taught me how to wake up if demons bothered me, and it doesn't happen that often, but…" It wasn't the full truth of the matter, but the rest of his problems were very much a secret, and he wasn't going to share them.

"But it is still frightening," Solas said, finishing Mahanon's thought, "I understand. I too was a young mage once."

Mahanon let out a little huff of air. "I can't picture it."

Solas' answer sounded good-natured, at least. "I looked much different back then, to be sure. I even had hair."

"You mean you weren't born all egg-headed? And here I thought you'd be teased by all the other kids."

That actually got a chuckle from Solas. "I assure you, there was not much 'teasing' going on." Mahanon heard a bit of shifting as Solas laid back down, and then he lifted the covers, inviting Mahanon to join him. "For tonight, so that the demons do not bother you."

Mahanon crawled under the blankets, curling up next to Solas. He was trying to take up as little space as possible while still being close enough to another person. If it was uncomfortable, then Solas didn't voice his objections to the arrangement.

It was the first good night of sleep Mahanon had gotten since the Conclave.

\---

He tried not to bother Solas often. He tried to limit it to when the nightmares were particularly bad, or to when he was feeling particularly lonely. The arrangement seemed to work fine, especially after Solas introduced Mahanon to Dreaming in the Fade. That meant that nights with Solas would be spent meeting the nice spirits of the Fade, something that Mahanon thoroughly enjoyed. Solas seemed to enjoy it too. Mahanon figured it was because nobody else really saw spirits as spirits, and so he hadn't really had anyone to introduce to his friends before. It was a little sad, but Mahanon was glad he could help in some way.

But eventually there came to be a night when the nightmares were strong and Solas was unavailable (he hadn't even seen Solas leave Haven, where could that elf have gotten off to?) and Mahanon had to go out looking for someone else to bother.

Varric was a heavy sleeper, and though the snoring was annoying Mahanon had managed to slip into his bed and fall asleep. The next morning had been awkward, though, when Varric had insisted on telling everyone in the Inquisition about 'the youthful elf that had snuck into his bed'. Varric may have just been joking around, and he clearly wasn't bothered by Mahanon's presence, though he did ask to be woken up and warned if it happened again. But Mahanon, burning with shame and embarrassment, had quickly decided to not bother Varric anymore.

\---

Dorian had also been bothered exactly once. Because when Mahanon had pulled back the blankets he had found that not only was Dorian in that bed, but so was the Iron Bull and a bunch of other stuff that Mahanon wanted to burn from his memory forever.

(Cole had offered to make Mahanon forget, but he decided against it. Forgetting might lead him to the same mistake in the future, and he didn't want Cole to think it was alright to go around erasing his memory in the first place.)

\---

"Hey, Sera? What would you do if someone snuck into your bed at night?"

Sera didn't answer immediately, because she had just shoved a rather large strawberry into her mouth. She chewed on it thoughtfully for a moment before swallowing and speaking up. "Well I guess it'd depend on who it was. If it was one o' them dwarfy-ladies we got about in here, I might be okay with it."

Mahanon had another strawberry from their shared basket in his hands, but he was picking at the leaves for the moment. "What if it was a guy?"

That answer came immediately. With Sera's tone turning rough near the end. "Then I'd shoot 'em in the dick. 'specially if they were a nosy, whiny, elfy brat!"

Mahanon decided to never, ever, _ever_ go bothering Sera at night.

\---

Similarly, Mahanon hadn't even bothered with Josephine. He knew the rumors about her and Blackwall, and he wasn't about to risk a repeat of what had happened before.

Stupid adults and their stupid bedtime habits.

\---

" _It was safe, with all of them. First me, then us, then many. Too many children for just one bed, have to share rooms and resting places. They kept the nightmares and the cold away. I miss them, I don't like sleeping alone._ It's easier at night, when someone else is there. The demons aren't so loud then. But the bed is too big now, and the nightmares come more frequently."

"Can we talk about something else?"

"I'm sorry, I'm doing it wrong-"

"You promised, remember?"

"Right, I promised, I wouldn't make you forget anymore. But I can still help."

"How? Are you gonna find someone who doesn't mind sharing a bed with someone? Or are you offering yourself up there?"

"I don't sleep."

"…right."

\---

Mahanon managed to get all the way to Vivienne's door before he heard a firm voice call out, "Don't even think about it, dear."

Oh well. So much for that idea. And here Mahanon was actually curious to see if she slept in that ridiculous hat of hers.

\---

Mahanon once walked near Cullen's quarters on a particularly bad night, and he had heard the sounds of struggle within. Breaking in had been easy, but seeing Cullen toss and turn on his bed like that was downright frightening. He had always been told to not wake anyone from their sleep, that it could hurt them, but Mahanon quickly forgot about that as he stepped forward and grabbed Cullen's shoulder. "Hey, hey wake up!"

Cullen snapped awake and sat up suddenly, startling Mahanon so badly that he jumped back and nearly fell through the hole that led to where Cullen's desk was. In the meantime Cullen had been searching for a sword, but none were close enough to grab. Not before he realized just who was in his bedroom, at least. "…Herald? What are you doing here?"

"I was walking by, and I heard noises, and, um…" Was there an easy way to say 'you were having freaky nightmares'?

But Cullen seemed to understand, and he sighed as he rubbed at his face. "My apologies. I didn't mean for you to see me like this."

So he had nightmares too, then. Mahanon felt a twinge of pity in his chest. Cullen wasn't even a mage, he shouldn't have been bothered by demons in his sleep, but apparently there was more to it than that. Must have been related to the lyrium that he wasn't taking anymore, Mahanon figured.

"Okay," he said finally, "Lay back down, I'll help you get back to sleep."

Cullen threw Mahanon a suspicious look, but he obliged. Then Mahanon went to crawl under the covers, and Cullen held up a hand to stop him. He said, "Wait, what are you even doing?"

"Just trust me," Mahanon said again, and he pushed the hand out of the way as he crawled into the bed, ultimately laying partially next to Cullen and partially on him, with his head resting against Cullen's chest. "It's easier, when there's someone there. Trust me, I know."

Cullen was a little tense, and for a moment Mahanon thought he might get pushed out of the bed. But eventually Cullen relented and relaxed. "…Alright. But just this once." Something about the tone made Mahanon think that Cullen had decided it wasn't for his own sake, it was for the child who had clearly been wandering Skyhold looking for something to chase the nightmares away. Mahanon was fine with that assumption, because it got the same result regardless.

Mahanon didn't visit Cullen at night very often after that, but on particularly bad nights when he could hear Cullen's nightmares even from his own room, he made a point of sneaking out to go help the Commander sleep. They didn't get to walk in the Fade like he did with Solas, but it was still a restful night anyway.

\---

Leliana didn't sleep at all, Mahanon decided. He had tried countless times to go and see if she was actually asleep or not, but every time he looked the bed was empty. She must have been functioning under pure determination and strong tea.

Or she just was a light sleeper and hid whenever someone entered her room at night. That was possible too. But if that's what was happening, she never brought up the topic with Mahanon.

\---

After Corypheus was defeated, after everyone left the Inquisition to pursue their own interests, Mahanon was left alone again. For two long years he dealt with the sleepless nights, no longer staking a claim in someone else's bed. It was starting to get awkward anyway, especially once he hit his growth spurt and suddenly looked much more like an adult. So instead of sneaking into someone else's bed for a bit of warmth and ease of mind, Mahanon started chatting it up with whoever was up late at night. Usually Leliana, or one of the scouts, or something. 

But after the disaster that was Viddasala, after nearly dying to the Anchor, after meeting Solas once again only to find out who he truly was…It was all too much.

Mahanon woke with a start, the remains of his left arm burning with pain. He bit down on his lip, turning the cry of pain into a subdued hiss. He instinctively tried to flex his fingers, to try to work out the pain like one would do with a strained muscle, only to remember a second later that there was nothing left there to flex. All he had was a mess of bandages, a heavy weight on his chest, and too many nightmares to count.

"I'm not heavy."

…well that explained the weight on his chest, at least. "Cole?"

Cole lifted his head up, gazing at Mahanon. It wasn't pitch-black in the room, Mahanon always kept a magical light on in the corner to chase the darkness away. So he could see Cole's face in the dim light, and it was a curious sight indeed. He definitely remembered Cole saying that he didn't sleep, so why was he here?

"Your thoughts were loud, even in your sleep," Cole answered automatically, " _It burns, it burns so much. It's going to consume me. Please don't go, I don't want to die alone._ " Cole let his head drop down to Mahanon's chest once more before speaking again, "The healers will yell at you if you try to leave your bed. So I will stay here. Then you will sleep without the nightmares."

"And you don't mind?" Mahanon was definitely relieved to have someone else there, so he wasn't about to send Cole away or anything. He was just curious.

Cole nodded against Mahanon's chest. "And I do sleep now, sometimes. Eventually my body won't move anymore, and everything gets dark and a few hours pass."

Well. That certainly was a horrible thought. Mahanon reached over with his right hand to hold the back of Cole's head in a protective gesture of sorts. "I…yeah, you should just sleep in my room for the time being. You might learn an actual sleep cycle that way." And maybe he wouldn't pass out in the middle of something important. The last thing that Cole needed was to drown in a river because he passed out from exhaustion on the riverbed.

"I won't drown," Cole said indignantly as he curled up closer to Mahanon.

"Yeah, you definitely won't. Not once you learn a regular sleeping schedule that is."

It didn't take away the pain of everything Mahanon had gone through, but it made things hurt less and it helped him get a better night's sleep. And, given the circumstances, that was probably the best he could ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's the ships for you, everyone. Hope you like them. More may or may not be added later.


	9. Redheads (Vivienne)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** This chapter refers to adults having sexual thoughts about young teenagers.

When she had signed on with the Inquisition, Vivienne had been under the impression that most of her work would be more scholarly in nature. Sure, the Inquisition was meant to be an army of sorts, but she had specifically been contacted about being a tutor to a young mage. That was quite a task in of itself, given how the young Herald seemed insistent on picking up bad magic-related habits from both the elven apostate and that mage from Tevinter. Both were competent in a battle, but they lacked the finesse of a mage trained properly in a Circle of the south. It took a lot of effort on her part to keep the Herald from absorbing those bad habits.

But then there were the trips into the field. Trips that took days at a time, and sometimes required Vivienne to go along as well. It wasn't that she hated the duty specifically, she knew that sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good. But if she had known that she would be camping in the field for weeks at a time, she would have brought more appropriate clothing from home. Times like this, where she was forced to go cavorting across the Storm Coast with the Herald, made her wish she had asked for clarification as to her duties with the Inquisition.

It wasn't all bad, she supposed. It really depended on the group that the Herald chose to take along with him. Maker knows why Cassandra let the boy choose his travelling partners, a child of thirteen most certainly didn't understand tactics well enough to pick soldiers well. But sometimes, even with a child calling the shots, things worked out. When the Herald travelled with Vivienne and chose adequate party members, like the Seeker and the Warden, things were alright. Their fashion choices left much to be desired, but they had honor, and they had strength. Vivienne never feared for the Herald's safety when they were around.

Those times were few and far between, though. Sometimes the Herald chose the absolute worst bunch for his adventures. Like Sera, for example. She was skilled with a bow, sure, but her immaturity rivaled the Herald's and she didn't even have the excuse of being a literal child. And then there was the Iron Bull. Another good fighter, but his mouth was filthier than a drunken sailor's. Sure, they may have been able to keep the Herald safe, but they were horrible influences on him.

And then there was the fact that the Herald always asked them questions, especially when they were walking around the countryside traveling from place to place. Both Sera and Bull were chatty, and Vivienne was always forced to listen to their inane conversations. It would have irritated her, had she not been used to irritations already.

"Hey Bull, what's your family like?"

Speaking of inane conversations…

"The Qunari don't have families like most people do- though you're Dalish, so I guess it might be a little different for you too." Bull paused there, apparently thinking about his response for a moment, before he ultimately shrugged. "Qunari don't live with their birth parents. We're raised by Tamassrans until we're old enough to begin training for our jobs."

"So these Tamassrans would be your family," the Herald asked curiously.

"Not quite," Bull answered, "We don't place that kind of importance on the people who raised us. They're a part of our lives, just like our friends or our co-workers are, but nothing too special."

The Herald, seemingly not happy with that response, kicked at the ground as the group walked. Vivienne glanced back at Sera, who was making a face and mocking the Herald and the Bull, holding up a hand and making it open and close like a mouth would. She was in the back, though, so neither of the boys in the party saw her. Vivienne may have disliked the chatter as well, but at least she could keep that dislike hidden within herself.

By the time Vivienne looked to the Herald again, he had started talking once more. "That seems hard to do, for a couple to just give up their kids like that."

"Well there's no 'couples' in the Qunari either," Bull said, explaining his culture with a lot more patience than Vivienne had expected of him, "We don't get married. When it's time for us to breed, the Tamassrans decide who will mate with who, and any child that results is taken in and raised independently of their parents. Sex isn't as big of a deal there either."

"Iron Bull," Vivienne said calmly, in warning.

"What," Bull responded, "Didn't you hear about the scene in the courtyard a few weeks ago? The kid already knows what sex is."

"Be that as it may, it is not something that needs further discussion," Vivienne answered coolly.

She glanced at the Herald, and she could see the conflicting ideas battling in his mind. On the one hand, the Herald didn't seem to particularly like talk about sex. It wasn't exactly surprising, given both his young age and his Dalish heritage. Vivienne had no doubts that the topic was an uncomfortable and embarrassing one for him. 

But on the other hand, the Herald also didn't like being told what to do. Vivienne had seen him do something he hates simply to spite an adult on more than one occasion. It made her almost pity the war council for having to put up with his rebellious streak. Almost.

It took a few seconds, but eventually his stubbornness won out over his awkwardness. "You must miss life there, then." Not directly asking about sex, but clearly inviting a conversation of some sort to continue. Vivienne would have applauded the Herald's stubbornness as a positive trait, something that would help him become a great leader, but it wasn't that great when it was used against her.

"Not really, it's more fun here," Bull answered, shooting Vivienne a grin. He apparently liked being stubborn and rebellious too. "Less rituals. Plus, you guys have redheads. Mmmmmm….redheads."

"Well at least you've got good tastes," Sera said, finally speaking up in this ridiculous conversation. The Iron Bull made an approving noise, and he and Sera exchanged a high-five.

The Herald, on the other hand, made a disgusted noise not unlike what Cassandra would have made if she were there. Maybe she was rubbing off on him after all. "Stop being gross you two," he said, picking up his pace and walking ahead of the group. As he did so, he reached up and tugged on a bit of longer hair that hung down in front of one of his ears.

His hair was a mess, Vivienne decided. He would need a haircut at some point, it looked like it was absolutely butchered the last time it was trimmed.

\---

Vivienne was up on the balcony that she had commandeered and turned into a bedroom of sorts. It was open to the main hall below, allowing her to see all the going-ons of the Inquisition, which is why she had chosen it in the first place. It did not afford much privacy, but she could keep an ear out for any trouble without leaving the comfort of her own quarters.

She was fixing up her outfit, making sure it laid flat perfectly, when she heard Varric's voice from the hall below. "Hey there Short Stuff! Busy with work today?"

Vivienne recognized Varric's nickname for the Herald right away. She took a moment to step away from her mirror and peer over her ledge, spying Varric at his usual spot by the fire below. The Herald was there too, carrying papers of some sort. What they were, Vivienne could not tell from there. Possibly some homework or something, he had many lessons when he was back at Skyhold for any length of time.

"Just gotta drop these off with Josephine," the Herald said cheerfully, "Then I'll be writing back home. I just got a letter from Mom, I'm gonna have another brother or sister in five months or so."

"Another one," Varric said incredulously, "Don't you already have five of them?"

"Yep," the Herald answered, "This'll be number six. Or six and seven, mom's getting big fast so she thinks it's twins again."

"You never said that you had any twins."

"I'm not a twin, but Elrahel and Isela are. They're the almost-youngest, only Alron is younger. Well…he's the almost-youngest now I guess."

That got a guttural laugh from Varric. "Your family must be pretty big, for you to keep losing track of them like this."

"Hey, it's not my fault mom and dad keep having kids! It's only gonna get worse too, if I'm all the way over here and they keep having kids. Most of 'em are way younger than me too, only Sorrel is close to my age. He's 11. Everyone else is 6 or younger."

"Well, we'll make sure you at least get to take a trip and visit them once the baby is born," Varric said, and then a moment later he added, "Or babies."

The Herald said his thanks, and a silence fell between them for a moment before he spoke up once more. "Varric, do you have any kids?"

Varric seemed surprised by that question, if his tone was any indication. "No. What makes you think I did?"

"Well, you're old, and most old people have kids," the Herald answered with a bit too much honesty. Vivienne was sure it was not just his naïve nature speaking there.

"Ouch," Varric said, holding a hand up to his heart like he had just been shot. But he had a ridiculous grin on his face. "You shoot to kill, don't you?"

"Whaaaat? It's true!"

"Not for me," Varric answered, "Though I have thought about it from time to time. Bianca's the only girl for me, but it'd be a shame to let this magnificent hair go without being passed on to the next generation."

Vivienne fought hard to keep a disgusted noise from escaping from her mouth.

The Herald laughed, and then he said, "Yeah, I guess someone really should in-HAIR-it that chest hair, huh?"

Okay, that was so groan-worthy that even Vivienne couldn't stop herself. Thankfully Varric had a similar reaction, so her noises were covered up and her eavesdropping was not discovered. 

"And here I thought I had the worst puns. But you've got it right, at least. My hair isn't as dark as yours, but it's still red, and us redheads have the responsibility to pass that hair on." 

There was a pause, one that made Vivienne almost lean over a bit more to see what had happened, but thankfully the Herald spoke up before she had to do that. "What's hair color got to do with anything?" The laughter from before was pretty much gone from his tone, replaced with confusion and caution.

"Well, it's a pretty rare color," Varric said, "Most people have black or brown hair. I think redheads even have to have kids with other redheads to have kids with red hair. I mean, it's not _that_ big of a deal. It's something to joke about, mostly. Since everyone seems to like redheads and all."

"…right. Just a joke." The Herald started to tug on that chunk of hair that hung in front of his ear as he turned away from Varric. "Sorry, I really should be getting these papers to Josephine."

And then the Herald turned and started to hurry away, not responding to Varric's calls for him to come back. Vivienne, for her part, just raised an eyebrow as she watched the scene play out in front of her.

That was all very unusual. Vivienne wondered what had prompted the Herald's mood to shift so dramatically.

\---

"Come now dear, the cup isn't going to bite you," Vivienne said gently, watching the Herald stare at a glass half-full of wine as if it was a demon just waiting for the chance to attack him. 

The frown on the Herald's face just deepened. "I know," he said sourly, "But it's _booze_. I remember what happened the last time I had it."

"The last time you drank anything, it was that beer that the Chargers get drunk on," Josephine pointed out, "That is hardly comparable to fine Orlesian wine."

"It's all still booze," the Herald protested.

"It's 'booze' that you need to learn how to drink properly, if you are to impress anyone at this party," Josephine pointed out, "I will be there to help you navigate the difficult conversations, but you need to be able to do the basics on your own without prompting. That includes eating and drinking like a noble would."

"Aren't kids given a pass on that kind of thing," the Herald asked, clearly looking for a way out of the conversation.

"Children are taught proper table manners as young as seven," Vivienne said, putting a stop to the Herald's attempts to escape the practice, "Some concessions are made for age in most cases, but you, my dear, are not 'most cases'. You may only be thirteen, but they expect the Herald of Andraste to carry himself like an adult. That means proper behavior in all situations, including dining."

Unable to argue with the point to Vivienne's words, the Herald made an irritated noise and crossed his arms in front of himself. "This is all so stupid! Why does it matter what fork I use for what meal? They're all forks!"

"It is a matter of ceremony," Josephine answered patiently, "Do the Dalish not have ceremonies of their own that they practice, even if they might seem strange to outsiders?"

"Yeah, but they're all for the gods and stuff, not just for being fancy." The Herald was being stubborn again, and Vivienne could tell that it was trying Josephine's patience. It was getting harder and harder for her to contain those disapproving looks, which fascinated Vivienne to no end.

"Mahanon," Josephine said finally, "I know you do not like these parties. I know you do not like having to dress up and act formal. But these people, they are the ones paying for our soldiers to stay fed. You are charming, and you can be quite handsome when you actually run a comb through your hair, but even those traits can only carry you so far. Acting the part of Herald is just as important as having the Anchor in the first place."

That drew an interesting reaction out of the Herald. At some point during it all, the stubborn frown on his face turned darker, almost angrier. He didn't say anything, but he looked away from Josephine entirely, and he started tugging on that same bit of hair once again. Vivienne thought that behavior was quite odd for him. She was all too familiar with the Herald's quirks and nervous habits, and tugging on his hair was a new one. When had he started doing that?

\---

If nothing else, the lessons in how to talk with nobles were paying off. It may have taken a couple of months of practice, but the Herald was tripping over his words far less often than he had before. Not that there weren't still mess-ups, he was a child after all, but Vivienne found herself stepping in to rescue him from unfortunate situations less and less often.

This situation with Minister Bellise, however…the Herald had to handle it on his own, but Vivienne had her doubts. This wasn't pleasant conversation, this was negotiating a deal. A deal that had very dire consequences if it went wrong, even. 

"The question remains, Herald," Minister Bellise said, drawing the conversation back around to the topic at hand, "What can you possibly provide that would make your petition worth my effort?"

It was a fair question, but thankfully the Herald had several options available. Leliana's spy network was invaluable, and Vivienne was sure that a favor or two would be more than enough to meet the minister's demands. Josephine also had many contacts, and if the contract on her life was rescinded then she would have trading power in several countries at her beck and call. It was wise to never underestimate the power of coin. Or, if worse came to worse, the soldiers of the Inquisition were a powerful tool too. The Herald had three good options, and Vivienne was sure that he couldn't go wrong with any of them.

But the Herald didn't go with any of them. The real question the minister was asking went right over his head. Instead, he frowned thoughtfully as he said, "What can I provide? Like, personally?"

Vivienne fought the urge to cringe at that. The Herald was young, there was no way he understood the implications of what he had just asked. Vivienne cast a sideways glance to Cassandra, and saw that she had gone beet-red, though her mouth remained closed. Then she looked to her other side, to Blackwall, and saw that he was looking away and acting like the gates were suddenly very interesting. 

Minister Bellise, for her part, just laughed at the Herald's words. "I'm sure you will grow into a handsome man, especially with that lovely hair of yours, but you are about a decade too soon to be using those sorts of tactics." 

"Oh. I. Um." The Herald glanced down awkwardly, and he reached up to tug at that bit of hair by his ear. "I didn't mean anything like that."

"Of course you didn't," The minister said, "So what _do_ you have to offer?"

\--- 

"Hey Viv, can I ask you a question?" 

Vivienne was up in her 'room', sitting in one of her chairs and reading a book. She glanced up from it, her face neutral, but her tone slightly scolding. "I have told you before to not use that nickname, Herald." 

"Right, sorry. Vivienne," he said, correcting himself, "Can I ask you something?" 

"You already have. Twice." But the fact that he had instantly corrected himself, rather than stubbornly insist that the nickname was important, told Vivienne that something was weighing on his mind. Vivienne closed her book and set it on her lap, using her free hand to indicate to the empty chair opposite of hers. The Herald remained standing, though, and she let her hand fall into her lap after a moment. The boy really did need to learn the standard courtesies of court. "But you may ask another. What is troubling you?" 

"Can you use magic to change your hair color?" 

Well. That certainly wasn't what Vivienne had been expecting. "I am sure that you can, though it seems like a waste of time and mana when there are other options available. Why do you want to know?" 

"It's, um. I was just wondering. I know sometimes you can dye hair, but it's gotta be really light, like Sera's hair, to do it. Otherwise the color won't stay." The Herald glanced away and started tugging at a bit of his hair, a now-familiar nervous habit of his, as he continued. "So I thought magic might be able to do it for dark hair. Make it light, make it brown, whatever." 

"Like I said, I suppose it could be done. But that doesn't answer my question of 'why'." Though maybe it did? Vivienne took a moment to look the Herald over again, trying to see if anything had changed recently. Nothing particularly terrible had happened in the last couple of months, not since that disaster with the Qunari dreadnaught, and nothing about the Herald himself had changed lately either. Vivienne was at a loss for why this was suddenly so important. 

But she wasn't completely clueless, she realized suddenly. The answer was right in front of her. The new nervous habit, the one that hadn't been there before. The one where he looked away from whomever he was talking to as he tugged on that stubborn bit of hair that insisted on hanging in front of his ear instead of remaining tucked back behind it. 

That stubborn bit of red hair. 

Dark red hair. 

"My dear," Vivienne said carefully, "Are you bothered by your hair color?" 

The Herald flinched, and he tried to cover it up by saying, "No, I was asking for someone else," but Vivienne knew the truth. The Herald was practically screaming it in his actions. 

So she didn't go along with his fake story of 'someone else'. She needed to get to the point right here, right now. "If you want my help with magic like that, then you will need to be honest: why does your hair color bother you?" 

"It doesn't…" The Herald trailed off there, before finally making an irritated noise. But it wasn't his usual brand of irritation, it was laced with resignation and…distraught feelings? Was this actually upsetting to him? 

The Herald started speaking again, and that time the words came out in a long, barely-coherent string. "Everyone says stuff about it. _Everyone_. Bull's always making stupid-eyes at the redheaded girls that work at the bar. The others, some of 'em talk about redheads like they're a thing, not a person. A thing to be gotten, to look at and think those stupid things that adults do. Especially at those parties, where I'm supposed to be all important and behave good and they're saying stuff like 'I'd like to see him in another decade' or 'It's a pity he's so young.' People act like I don't know what it means when they say stuff like that, that I'm just a dumb kid and they can talk in fancy words and I won't know what they're really saying. But I do, and I don't like it. I…" He stopped for a moment and took in a sharp, shuddering breath. Was he really that close to crying? "I don't want them to think stuff like that, when they look at me." 

__Oh._ _

__Vivienne suddenly understood everything, and the realization of it all made her chest ache in a way that it hadn't in decades. She had been so focused on refining his behavior, on making him into the shining example of the Inquisition, that she hadn't stopped to think of the fact that he really was just a kid, and that some of the darker parts of the Game were too much for him. It may not have been entirely her fault- the Herald had mentioned the Iron Bull by name, after all- but she did have a part in it. She should have seen the writing on the wall sooner._ _

__She should have recognized his struggles as what they were: similar to the struggles she herself had gone through many years ago, when she was just a young girl living at the Circle._ _

__"Mahanon," she said finally, using the name that rarely left her lips, "First off, the Iron Bull is not thinking of you when he talks about redheads. You are a child to him, and he has made it clear that he doesn't think of children in such a way."_ _

__Smoothing that particular problem over was especially important, as she needed the Herald to trust the Bull to protect him, and she honestly believed that the Bull didn't think of the Herald in a sexual manner. From what she had seen, he treated the Herald more like a younger brother, or perhaps a new member of his Chargers, or something along those lines._ _

__Once she saw the Herald relax a little, she continued with her thoughts. "As for everyone else, they will have dirty thoughts. Sometimes they will involve you, or people who share a physical trait with you. That is not something you can change. Even mages cannot control someone else's mind like that."_ _

__The Herald looked up to Vivienne finally, his eyes full of hurt. "But-"_ _

__"You cannot control what others think and do," Vivienne said quickly, not giving him a chance to speak, "Unfortunately, 'redheads' is a very common 'like', so to speak, and you will meet many idiots who think little of you because of your hair. The same is true for your identity as the Herald, and your identity as a mage, and your identity as an elf. People will always have uncomfortable thoughts about the things that make you different, and you cannot control that. It is something I also have had to struggle with."_ _

__That seemed to lessen the burden on the Herald's shoulders, if only by a little bit. No doubt he did not expect to find that others had experienced the same thing as he had. Vivienne probably should not have admitted to it, admitting to a weakness like that was dangerous when you played the Game, but this was truly a situation that called for it._ _

__"So what, I'm just supposed to accept that," the Herald asked._ _

__"Oh good heavens no," Vivienne said, "You cannot control what others think and do, but you _can_ control is how you react to what others think and do. That, my dear, is one of the greatest powers you could possibly have."_ _

__The Herald, clearly confused by that statement, raised an eyebrow. "It's powerful, to be thought of in gross ways?"_ _

__And there was the question that Vivienne actually had an answer to. "Of course. All people have dirty little secrets that they don't want others knowing. That is why we have 'the Game' in the first place: the right secrets can ruin a person's reputation. And if that person's secret is that they have lustful thoughts for an underage boy based on his hair color, then that is powerful ammunition. So let them have their 'dirty thoughts'. Let them make snide comments about your appearance. Let them talk themselves into a corner, and then use those words against them. Show them no mercy. Show them that your kindness is just one side of a tempered mind, and that your sharp tongue will strike out and strip them of everything they have if they are not careful. That is how you win."_ _

__Silence stretched between the two of them. Vivienne was content with what she had said, and she waited for the Herald to process it all. It was a lot for a young mind to take in, after all. Vivienne herself had been rendered speechless for over an hour after those words had been spoken to her. But she expected that it wouldn't take an hour for the Herald, he was a quick thinker. And he couldn't stop running his mouth either, in most situations._ _

__Eventually Vivienne was proven right, as the Herald spoke with a hesitant voice. "I…I'm not so good at that 'sharp tongue' stuff." His doubts were spoken honesty, and he met her gaze with true sincerity in his eyes. "Can you teach me?"_ _

__"My dear," Vivienne said confidently, "I was born to play the Game. Teaching you to play as well would be a simple task."_ _


	10. Help, part 1 (Cole)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a note: 
> 
> Italics without quotation marks = Cole is hearing that, but not saying it
> 
> Italics with quotation marks = Cole is hearing that and also repeating it out loud

The cries, the screams, the frightened prayers for salvation. There weren't that many people at Haven, but everyone's thoughts were loud, too loud for him. He was used to hearing many voices at a time, but rarely did everyone's minds cry out in one, loud voice.

_Help_

_Save me_

_I don't want to die!_

It was a sea of calamity, so much suffering and pain, with voices dying out as swords clashed and arrows fell. Every time he stopped to help one person, twelve more called out for him, their minds reaching, singing calls for help to him in the rapid, frightening song that threatened to drown out everything else around him.

But in that sea of desperation, one mind rang out clear, calling to him in a way the others hadn’t. If the rest were a storm, then this one was the beacon, guiding him.

_Don't leave me behind! I want to help! I **can** help! Just give me a chance!_

He could feel the fear, the uncertainty. But for as frightened as that mind was, determination pushed through. It didn't want to die, but it didn't want the others to die either. 

It wanted to help.

He made himself visible once he was close, crouching down near the red-headed boy so that he could speak only to him. "You want to help."

The boy wheeled on him, searching him out, but his hat covered his eyes and the boy could not see him clearly. That was the best way to do things. It was easier to make them forget, if they didn't see his eyes.

"Who are you," the boy asked.

_There's no time for this, Cass could be dying, I need to find her, I can help her-_

" _swords, screams, slaughter, we cannot win this fight. We need to run._ ," he said, and he held out a hand to the boy, "I want to help too. Let me help you, and then you can help her."

The boy's mouth was still, but his thoughts were loud. _I don't know him. Is he dangerous? But he doesn't look scary._ "I won't hurt you," he said, trying to calm the boy's worries, "I can be dangerous, but not to you. You're good. You want to help. You won't hurt anyone, so I won't hurt you."

_He's weird. And maybe he is dangerous, but…_

Finally the boy reached out and took his hand. "Okay. I'll trust you. Do you know who Cassandra is?"

"No. But I can find her."

\---

He kept to the shadows for some time after that. Help heal the hurt, then make them forget. He had done it for a long time, the motions were almost automatic by then. There were a lot of hurts to heal at Skyhold, so he had plenty of reason to stay.

He was with the dead and dying, listening to their final thoughts as they slipped away, when the boy approached him. He had heard the boy's thoughts long before he stepped forward, though. " _Cass and Viv want him gone, but he helps people. Why should he go away if he's helping?_ " He turned his head slightly to look at the boy, who had stepped back in surprise at hearing his own thoughts spoken. "Yes, I do want to help. I can make them forget I was here." Because if they remembered then this boy would be troubled, and he didn't want to cause more trouble to the boy who just wanted to help.

"You…how do you know that," the boy asked.

"Because I help. I hear the hurt, and then I heal it." It was a simple explanation as far as he was concerned. 

"But you said 'I can make them forget'. How does that help?"

"Sometimes I don't get it right, and it's better for them to forget that."

"I remember seeing you before. Back at Haven."

"Yes."

"You didn't make me forget."

"It was better not to at the time. You wouldn't have remembered what you were there for." He inclined his head slightly towards the boy. "I can make you forget now though."

The boy quickly held up his hands. "Nonono, that's okay, I don't want to forget. In fact, don't make me forget anything, okay?"

"You don't want to forget?"

"Nope. Not ever." The boy paused for a moment, considering something that he couldn't quite hear (the mark was too bright, it blocked some of the thoughts-) before speaking again. "In fact, that's gonna be one of the rules: if you want to stay here, you can't make me forget anything. Ever. Got it?"

If he wanted to stay…He did want to stay, yes. He did not like the idea of having to follow rules, especially one like that. But the boy did specify himself, didn't he? So others could be made to forget instead. That was fine, if one person remembered. Especially if that one person was someone who wanted to help. They were alike, even if the boy was alive and he was not. They could work together to help.

So he nodded and said, "Alright. I won't make you forget."

The boy smiled. "Okay, then you can stay. Oh, but you might wanna hide from Cass and the stuffy grownups, they don't really like you."

"I am not afraid of them. But I will stay hidden." If the boy was requesting it, then he could do it. He liked to hide anyway, it was better when he wasn't seen.

"Right, that'll work out fine." The boy turned and started to walk away, back to the adults he had been talking to.

"Mahanon."

The boy stopped and looked back to him with a curious look on his face.

"That is the name you like. Not 'Herald' or 'Lavellan' or anything else. Mahanon is your name, and your name alone. So I will call you that." 

_He must've been listening in all around the place to know that. Sneaky guy. I don't even know his name yet._

"Cole," he said, answering the unspoken question, "My name is Cole."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing from Cole's point-of-view is difficult.
> 
> But anyway, I'm splitting up this 'chapter' into a few parts that will be put in at different points. The main reason for this is that I wanted to show Cole's point-of-view of events that have already happened in the story, as sort of a comparison to what the other characters saw. Also, his mind-reading makes him the Spoiler Guy, which would've ruined the suspense for a few chapters that are coming up. So expects more parts of this after the story progresses more.


	11. Wicked Eyes (Lavellan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next part were originally one long chapter, but it was REALLY long, so I ended up splitting it up into two parts. I'm changing a few parts of the second half, but it should be up in a week or so.

This was, by far, the biggest mission they had undertaken since moving to Skyhold. Normally the war table meetings lasted a few minutes, with Cullen or Leliana explaining the objectives before they hashed out a simple plan, one that Mahanon could usually keep track of on his own. He was getting better at it too, now that he had nearly six months of practice with listening to the adults talk through plans. But this one…this one was a lot to keep track of.

Interestingly enough, it was Josephine who was going through the plan. It made some sense, given the diplomatic nature of what they were going to do, but it still felt a little strange. Josephine was an expert at connections and relations between countries, but Mahanon had never pegged her as a leader. He would have to re-evaluate that thought, it seemed.

"We have an invitation, though it is through Gaspard, not the Empress herself. We also will have to bring a limited group, as an army would certainly arouse suspicion." Josephine made a mark on her notes before continuing. "Myself, Leliana, Cullen, and Cassandra will be going of course. I have no doubt that we will need to convene to make decisions while we are there. The Herald will need to be in attendance as well, because the invitation was extended to him specifically."

She paused, glancing at Mahanon in a way that made him squirm. He could always tell when she was silently evaluating him. "We'll need to prepare a properly-fitted uniform for you, and you will need to learn how to dance and act at court, but that can be done in the three weeks we have to prepare."

Mahanon scowled at her. "I know how to dance, Josie." He wasn't a complete child, and he really didn't like it when people assumed he was. 

If Josephine was bothered by the scowl, she didn't show it at all. "You know the Elven ways of dancing, which is certainly useful in some regards, but you still need to learn the Orlesian way. You will be in the spotlight as much as the rest of us are, and you need to make a good impression on the court." But Josephine left it at that, and she scanned down on her paper as she added, "Besides the five of us, we can bring two more people. Any thoughts?"

Leliana was the first to speak up. "We should avoid bringing anyone who will stick out. Iron Bull and Sera are right out, I should think."

Cullen nodded in agreement. "I agree. As much as I would appreciate the Bull's physical strength, in case we get into a fight, he would draw too much attention." The reasons for Sera's disqualifications were plain to everyone present, so nobody needed to speak up. Even Mahanon himself couldn't justify it. As much as he liked Sera, she really would cause a lot of problems there.

"I would suggest one of either Vivienne or Dorian," Leliana said, "Dorian is of noble blood, even if it is Tevinter nobility, and Vivienne has a lot of experience with the Orlesian court. Either of them would be an asset."

Cassandra spoke up in agreement, saying, "Between the two of them, I would say Vivienne. She knows these people, she would be better at picking out the ones who are acting strangely."

"Well, why not both of them then," Mahanon asked curiously. It seemed like a pretty easy thing to decide, if they had two people who were equally qualified to fill two spots.

Josephine was the one to answer his question, gently saying, "Bringing three mages to a party like this is not a good idea, given the current turmoil and the recent war. Even two is pushing it. For that reason, I would suggest not bringing Solas as well."

"Blackwall is a possibility," Cullen suggested, "He is a Grey Warden, and having him there would certainly help make the Inquisition look more legitimate."

"I was going to say him or Varric, actually," Leliana said, "Varric may not look the part, but he has connections as well. And he is very popular among high-ranking women, thanks to his authorly pursuits. If nothing else, he could provide an effective distraction."

A disgusted look passed over Cassandra's face. "We cannot bring Varric."

"Why not," Leliana asked.

"We just can't," Cassandra said, speaking more firmly, "He's just so…" Unable to find the right words to describe him, she made a gesture with her hands. A gesture which drew a snort from Cullen, though he didn't comment on it.

At that point things started to slide into a disagreement, with Cassandra and Cullen favoring Blackwall while Leliana and Josephine favored Varric. Mahanon knew these arguments all too well: at some point it would be up to him to speak up and break the tie. He knew that the adults didn't particularly like it when he did that, but a stalemate over this issue wouldn't help at all. Plus, he was the Herald, and someday he would be the Inquisitor. He needed to get used to making the tough decisions.

Mahanon ran over the list in his mind once more. Cullen, Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana were all going. He was going. Vivienne was going. Bull, Sera, Solas, and Dorian weren't that good of choices for this, and he wasn't even going to try to argue for their inclusion. That left three people that could maybe go: Blackwall, Varric, and…

"Cole," Mahanon said finally, his face lighting up as the idea that had been lurking in his mind came to the forefront, "Cole can be the last one."

All four of the adults stopped talking and turned their heads to stare at him, all of them looking at him like he had just suggested that they bring a horse into the party or something. The pressure of all the attention on him made him lose his confidence for a moment, and he tripped over his words for a few seconds as he started to explain himself. "I-I was just thinking, this is all about being secretive and stuff, right? If we're gonna-" He paused for a second, mentally correcting his speech patterns away from his familiar Dalish way of speaking and back to the more official-sounding voice. "If we have to be secretive and sneak around without being seen, then who better to do that than someone who can make people forget he was even there?"

Nobody immediately shot down Mahanon's suggestion, which was a good sign. So he continued, saying, "Plus, he can _read minds_. If anyone there is plotting to kill the empress, he'll know about it right away."

"I can't believe I'm almost ready to agree with you," Cassandra said, closing her eyes and rubbing at her temple.

"Well I'll be the one to disagree, then," Cullen said, and he gave Mahanon a stern look as he continued, "Cole is dangerous. We don't know his true motives, and if anyone is going to cause problems at a gathering like that, it's a demon."

"He's not a demon," Mahanon said, immediately jumping to Cole's defense, "He's a spirit. All he wants to do is help people, and he would be a huge help right about now. So why not give him the chance?"

Unlike Cullen, Leliana was more cautious about her disapproval, coming at it from a more practical standpoint. "Yes, he does want to help. But how can we ensure that he is helping us, and not our enemies?"

Now it was Leliana's turn to feel the heat of Mahanon's scowling. "Cole is my friend. He listens to me when I tell him stuff. He's not going to do something that will hurt me, especially if I explain what's going on."

But, as with Josephine, the scowling had no effect. If anything, it made Leliana's thoughtful look turn firmer. "He may not directly work against you, but he knows nothing of the court, nor of the Game. He could end up hurting our efforts by trying to help someone in a way that seems inconsequential."

Mahanon crossed his arms in front of himself and stood as tall as he could, trying to make himself look formidable. It didn't work, of course, as he was under five feet tall and still looked like a child. But he was trying. "Well I think it's worth the risk. We could find out everything within ten minutes of showing up if he's helping us."

Finally Josephine spoke up again, and Mahanon was glad to hear that it was in his favor. "He does have some good points. If the demon- sorry, 'spirit'- stays out of sight, then he could make for a powerful tool. Plus we wouldn't have to worry about outfitting him with a uniform, nor with teaching him how to act at court. It's one less person in front of the nobles, which is a benefit over Blackwall and Varric."

"As much as I hate to say it, he really would be an asset," Cassandra said, "He is…strange, to be sure. I am not entirely comfortable being around him either. But if we take away his weapons and make it clear that he is not to harm anyone at the party, then I think he could be managed. He's certainly less likely to flirt with someone's wife and cause a scandal, at the very least."

"I'm still against it," Cullen said, "It's too much danger in a situation which is already precarious."

"I agree with Cullen, but it seems we are outvoted," Leliana said with a sigh before turning to Mahanon specifically, "I hope you are right here, Herald. The stakes are too high for you to be wrong."

The stakes are too high for 'him' to be wrong. Mahanon realized the implication behind that: this was his decision, and if things went poorly, then it would be a mark against his judgement. It was the first time Leliana had ever put the responsibility on him specifically. Was it a test, meant to see if Mahanon could make good leadership choices? Maybe. He wasn't sure of that.

But he was sure of one thing: he wasn't wrong, and he would show all of them. His ideas were just as good as theirs were.

\---

Mahanon went looking for Cole in his usual spot at the tavern, giving a friendly wave to Bull and Krem as he walked by them. Cole was not sitting on his usual perch, though. Which was odd, since he always seemed to be there any time Mahanon went looking for him. It was as if he knew when he was wanted, and would wait where he needed to be until he was found.

Which made sense, what with Cole being a mind-reader and all. But that made it all the stranger that Cole wasn't there in the first place.

Not wanting to walk down two flights of stairs, Mahanon leaned over the railing and called down to the first floor, "Hey Krem, have you seen Cole?"

Krem peeked out from his usual spot on the first floor, leaning forward far enough into the open space at the center of the tavern that Mahanon could see his face. "Haven't seen him all day, Herald!"

From the second floor, Sera's voice called out, "Creepy got kicked out for being creepy again!"

"Were you the one who kicked him out," Mahanon called back.

"Of course I did! Nosy little arse, going in my head like that!" 

Mahanon rolled his eyes and muttered "Of course you did" before opening a nearby window and crawling out onto the lower portion of the roof. Nobody liked it when he went out that way- especially not Cassandra, who was usually training near the tavern and caught him when he tried- but he figured it would be easier to find Cole if he had a good vantage point over the courtyard at Skyhold.

" _'He needs to stand up for himself more, he's just getting bullied.'_ "

Mahanon nearly jumped out of his skin, and he had to grab onto the windowsill to keep from sliding off the roof entirely. Cole was nearby, sitting on the taller part of the roof, his legs dangling over the edge. "You sure do know how to scare a guy! Geez!"

"Sorry. I would have made you forget, but you told me not to. And I'm not being bullied, I don't mind sitting out here." Cole didn't move to make room for Mahanon or to help him up to where he was, but when Mahanon pulled himself up he found that Cole had situated himself in such a way that there was plenty of room for Mahanon to sit anyway.

"Yeah, don't made me forget anything," Mahanon reiterated as he settled down next to Cole, "But I'm surprised you didn't make Sera forget."

"She had to remember, so that you would come looking for me," was Cole's only reply. It didn't really make much sense to Mahanon, but he had learned not to question Cole's logic too much. Cole always had an end goal in mind, so even if his way of getting there was weird, it wasn't like he was doing weird stuff for no reason. Mahanon could respect that about him, at the very least.

So he said, "Right. And I was looking for you because I need your help with something."

Cole perked up a bit at that. Mahanon knew that Cole would read his mind anyway, but he had found that Cole liked it more when people actually asked him for help, rather than just letting him do his own thing after listening to their thoughts. Plus he wanted to make sure Cole understood exactly what Mahanon was asking of him.

"You see," he started, "There's this huge party in a couple weeks. We're going to the castle and meeting the Empress. But we're not just going for fun, there's gonna be a lot of danger and stuff. And we gotta be sneaky too, because there's assassins and a plot to kill the Empress and stuff. You can be really sneaky and help us figure out what's going on, right?"

Cole nodded quickly, his hat bobbing along with his head. "Yes. I can go there and listen without being seen." He paused thoughtfully, a pause Mahanon had come to recognize as Cole digging through his thoughts. "Although…You want me to read their minds. I can't do that."

"Why not," Mahanon asked.

"I hear the hurt, so I can heal it. If there's no hurt, no call for help, then I can't hear it." 

"But the bad guys, the ones that want to kill the Empress, they'll be all wound up from their plans, right? And maybe they'll be worried about it all, and you'll hear that worry?" Mahanon wasn't sure if it would work, but it was worth a try.

Cole considered it for a moment before speaking again. "Maybe. I will go with you, and I can try."

"Okay. And if it doesn't work, that's okay too. I just thought it'd be worth trying." Mahanon did want it to work, though. After the talk in the war room, he wanted to be right. 

" _'It can't be a mistake, it needs to be right, that way they'll look at me and see a leader. I'm not a child, I'm not useless!'_ But you're not useless. Cassandra already respects you, and the others listen to you."

Mahanon sighed. Of course Cole would have seen that. "Stay out here, Cole. Serious talks right now, remember?"

Cole looked down at his hands. "Sorry."

Pushing forward, Mahanon said, "It's very very very very VERY important that nobody sees you. Nobody except me. …and the others with us, I guess. The ones from the Inquisition who are going, I mean. But everyone else, they can't see you."

Cole nodded again. "If they see me, I'll get attacked."

"Exactly. And I don't want you to get hurt." That was a genuine feeling, at least. Even if Cole was weird at times, Mahanon did like having him around. He was a pretty good friend, if you got past the mind-reading thing. It didn't even matter that he was a spirit, Mahanon liked him anyway.

"Thank you," Cole said, and then a moment later he added, "For calling me a spirit instead of a demon."

Grumbling, Mahanon waved a hand in front of Cole's face. "Out here still, remember?"

Cole leaned back slightly, both moving away from the hand and looking away once more. "Sorry. It's hard to not listen, your thoughts are loud today."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised." His thoughts were probably going to be very loud until they saved the Empress. "Besides, I'd rather call you a friend."

Cole didn't seem to know how to respond to that, because he fell silent and just sat there, fidgeting with his hands. Mahanon was about ready to ask him if he was alright, but Cole finally spoke up, saying, "…thank you."

It was hard to tell, because Cole's hat blocked most of his face, but for a second there Mahanon could have sworn that he had seen some kind of an embarrassed look on Cole's face.

\---

Mahanon was practically glowering as he stood in place, his arms stuck out at his sides. He had been standing there for nearly an hour as his new dress uniform was tailored to his size. Apparently measurements alone were not enough, and he had to actually stand there like a living mannequin. 

In short, it sucked.

"Why do I gotta stand here," Mahanon whined, using his face and voice to express the sheer displeasure he felt at that moment. At least that way he wouldn't get yelled at for moving and messing up the seamstress. "I'm only gonna wear this once, it's not like it has to be perfect!"

"It does need to be perfect," Josephine said, "Everyone's eyes will be upon you. I doubt anyone there expects a thirteen-year-old to play The Game, but they are still going to be critical of you. How you speak, how you walk, how you look. And since you are an elf, they are going to be looking for reasons to call you uncivilized. We can't give them a reason to think that. Ergo, the tailoring."

She paused for a moment, looking up from her notes to actually focus on Mahanon. She had been so buried in her work lately that she had barely looked at him. But now she was silently evaluating him, and it almost made Mahanon uncomfortable, but at the last moment Josephine smiled and said, "If it makes you feel better, the rest of us have to go through the same process. Have you ever seen Cullen try to not pace around for five minutes? It is quite a sight, or so I have been told."

Surprisingly, those words did help a little. Before he knew it, Mahanon found himself grinning at Josephine's words. "I bet he complained about it too," he said jokingly.

"But of course," Josephine said, confirming Mahanon's thoughts, "And Leliana, it was hard enough to find her to even get her fitted. She is a sneaky one, you know."

"Well of course she is, she's the spymaster and all," Mahanon answered, suppressing a little laugh, "Cass probably doesn't like it either, but I bet Viv didn't complain."

"Oh no, don't let her fool you. She absolutely did complain." Josephine paused for a second before adding, "She was upset that we couldn't make her a new hat to match the uniform."

By then Mahanon was laughing, and Josephine joined him a moment later, holding her noteboard up to her mouth to cover up her chuckles. 

Interestingly enough, the fitting passed by a lot more quickly after that.

\---

Josephine wasn't the one who instructed Mahanon in dancing, interestingly enough. That duty fell to Vivienne. 

It made sense, in a way. Vivienne was already teaching Mahanon how to do magic (at least part of the time, when he wasn't sneaking lessons from Dorian and Solas). And truthfully, dancing and magic had a lot in common. You had to move your body in ways that you wouldn't normally, doing precise movements to get exactly the result you wanted. Vivienne was already well-versed in teaching lessons to Mahanon, so she knew exactly where to apply pressure to get him to learn.

The hard part, of course, was the height difference. Vivienne was quite tall for a human, even without her heels and hat on to make her seem more imposing. Mahanon was, to put it gently, 'a bit behind in his growth spurts.' If he stood on his tip-toes, he might barely be able to make it to Vivienne's bustline. With the top of his head. 

For those reasons, Mahanon decided to actually focus on his lessons instead of joking around, so as to not give Vivienne a reason to smite him. Not that she would, her punishments were always far cleverer than that. But Mahanon didn't want to push his luck, especially when he was facing an already-difficult task.

"You'll need to take the lead here, dear," Vivienne said as the pair moved slowly through the steps for the dance she was trying to teach him, "Even if you will be shorter than your dancing partners, you will be expected to take the dominant position while dancing. Your status practically demands it."

"It's hard to hold your hand over your shoulder when I can't even reach it on my own," Mahanon pointed out.

"Which is why you will be using the revised method for that section," Vivienne answered, "You are not the first short man to go to Court, and you will not be the last. These things are to be expected, and you must perform them to perfection."

"What if I just put on really tall shoes," Mahanon suggested as he tried the alternate method of executing that turn-and-spin, with his hand on Vivienne's waist instead of lifting her hands up high, "That's what everyone wears anyway, right?"

"You would need an extra eighteen inches to be the right height for the standard movements, and I doubt you could perform them with shoes that large on your feet," Vivienne said curtly, "As you grow taller, I will teach you other methods. For now, just focus on this."

He was getting the hang of it, at least. The steps themselves were easy enough to remember. The hard part was doing them faster, and to the beat of the music. Mahanon's years of living with a Dalish clan and learning their dances had taught him that keeping up with the beat of the song was the hard part. Mahanon wasn't inept, but three weeks was not a lot of time to learn anything.

"How bad will it be if I mess up," Mahanon asked.

Vivienne clicked her tongue at Mahanon. "My dear, if you do not mess up, then you do not have to think of the consequences." 

Somehow, Vivienne's words sounded almost kind there. Maybe she actually did care about him enough to want him to do well? That would be nice, Mahanon thought to himself. Vivienne was usually pretty strict and on-task. If she was opening up a bit to him, then maybe they could get along better. More than anything, he wanted to be friends with everyone in the Inquisition. That included Vivienne.

Smiling up at her, he said, "Okay, I won't worry about that then."

Vivienne gave him an approving look. "Good. And you remember what to do if anyone comments on your hair or heritage, yes?"

Mahanon nodded. "Figure out their insecurities, then make a backhanded insult about it that sounds like an innocent compliment. Or if I can't do that, take their words as a compliment and thank them for it, so that they don't know they upset me."

That approving look spread into a smile. "You're learning quickly, dear."

Grinning, Mahanon said, "That's because I have a good teacher."

\---

The training field was not usually a place that Mahanon visited in his wanderings of Skyhold. Being a mage, he had little use of swords or bows. But today he was there at the behest of Cullen, who was currently drilling him on some very basic moves. Both had practice swords, though Mahanon had to use two hands to lift his. Adult longswords were practically great swords as far as he was concerned. 

"Alright," Cullen said, stepping back for a moment, "Let's try this one: what do you do if one of the servants starts following you?"

"Ask them for some more wine," Mahanon said jokingly.

"Wrong!" Cullen stepped forward again and swung, and Mahanon lifted his sword to block it. He could practically feel the bones in his arms vibrating from the strength of the blow. "Try again."

Mahanon grumbled something under his breath, which drew a second strike from Cullen. Mahanon blocked that second blow, and he quickly said, "Alright, alright! I'd, um…go where there's lots of people? And try to find Leliana, a servant being sneaky is probably a spy."

Cullen relented and once more stepped back, saying, "Good. Though it would be better for you to contact the first member of the Inquisition that you see, regardless of if they are Leliana or not. Your safety is of the upmost importance."

"Then why not just tie me to one of you with a rope," Mahanon said sarcastically. He didn't actually want to be leashed for this party, but he was trying to make a point.

"Because that would tarnish the Inquisition's reputation," Cullen answered, "You are the Herald of Andraste, the one meant to save us all. If they think of you as a child, then it will be hard to persuade them to take the Inquisition seriously."

Mahanon lowered the tip of the sword, holding it in such a way that he wasn't straining his arm muscles. "Why, because they'd think you're all a bunch of babysitters?"

" _Elven_ babysitters at that," Cullen responded, though Mahanon could see that a smile was tugging at the corner of his lips, "Imagine if we were to take Solas and Sera with us."

In return, Mahanon cracked a little smile of his own. "I dunno, an Elf party sounds like a pretty good idea. It'd be a lot more interesting at least." 

"I'm sure it would. Now-" Cullen raised his sword again, and Mahanon took that as a sign that he should do the same. He had a feeling that there was a lot more training to be done before the sun set.

\---

Out of all the training he had to do to prepare for the party, his time with Cassandra had to be the worst. Which was a change, because normally he liked spending time with her. But this…this was too much.

"Caaaaass, do I really have to learn all of this stuff," he asked, practically flopping down against the desk he was using.

"Yes," Cassandra said shortly, "Nobody expects you to know the names of every lord and lady who will be appearing, but you need to at least know the names of the primary parties involved. And stop doing that, I don't like this either. Our soldiers need more training, and it would be better for me to be out drilling with Cullen."

"Yeah, I bet you'd like that," Mahanon muttered under his breath.

Planting a hand firmly down on the desk- an act which made Mahanon jump up to attention in a hurry- Cassandra said, "Care to repeat that, _Lavellan_?"

"I said, um, 'Yeah, Josie'd like that,' "Mahanon said, fumbling over his words, "Where is she, anyway? She's the one who knows the most about this noble stuff."

Cassandra eyed Mahanon suspiciously for a moment, but ultimately she removed her hand from the desk and stepped away. "She has other duties to attend to, so she left the task to me."

"Which means you gotta talk about this empress and her brother and why they're all trying to kill each other," Mahanon said, trying to be helpful.

It wasn't helpful, though, and it just drew an annoyed sigh from Cassandra. "Gaspard is Celene's cousin, not her brother. Duchess Florianne is his sister."

"Right, right. And they're all mad about how she ended up as ruler and they want that spot, so they're doing stupid stuff like allying with an archdemon to try and overthrow her." It had to be a human thing, Mahanon decided. Humans always did stupid stuff like that.

"That is…an interesting summary of events, but it is accurate," Cassandra said, giving Mahanon some consideration, "Briala might be involved as well, or so I have been told. We shall find out more at the Winter Palace."

That drew Mahanon's attention, mostly because that name didn't sound like a human name. "Briala? Who's that?"

"The Empress' former spymaster and lover," Cassandra said, "It is…a messy situation, between them. But I am surprised that you have not heard of Briala, she has supposedly been in contact with many Dalish clans."

Mahanon shrugged. "Clan Lavellan lives up in the Marches. I barely knew anything about Orlais or Ferelden before coming down here. Plus I was just a Second, and the Keeper didn't really tell me anything about what was going on with the clan." Any of those reasons could have been why Mahanon hadn't heard of her, though honestly the reason why didn't matter. He was more interested in finding out who this elf was and why she was connected to the Empress. "So, who is she? And why are things 'messy' between them?"

Cassandra frowned disapprovingly as she said, "This is a lesson in history, not gossip."

"But it might come up at the party," Mahanon protested, "What if I have to talk to her?"

That drew a resigned sigh from Cassandra. "Alright, fine. But don't let Josephine know I told you about this, it really is just gossip. Supposedly, many years ago, Briala was a handmaiden for the queen…"

\---

Cullen wasn't the only one who was interested in training Mahanon. A few days after his training session, he found himself up in the tower that held the library and Solas' murals. Up on the top floor, among the ravens and cages, Mahanon sat perched on the railing that ran around the middle of the room. He was careful to hold on- even a spry elf like himself would no doubt be injured by a fall that far- but his attention was primarily focused on Leliana, who was pacing in front of him.

"I know Cullen has had you practice with a sword, but I think focusing on your more innate talents would be a better use of our time," Leliana said to Mahanon, "Am I correct in assuming that you had begun training in another field, before you gained your magic?"

Mahanon, surprised by the insight Leliana had provided, nodded. "Yeah, I…How did you know that?"

"You said that you have only had your magic for about a year and a half, which would have made you partway into your eleventh year of life. Still well within the usual age range for mages, but on the older end of things." After a moment's pause, Leliana added, "And the way you move, it is more like how a rogue moves. Dorian and Vivienne walk heel-first, ready to plant themselves firmly upon the ground should they need to cast a spell. You walk on your toes, and you are just as likely to climb an impassable wall as you are to find a way around. Skills learned from your parents, I presume?"

"Yeah," Mahanon answered, "Mom's a scout, and Dad's a hunter. Both of them climb trees and move around silently every day. I was gonna be a scout too, before my magic showed up."

"So you take after your mother, then," Leliana said in a way that almost sounded approving, "Have you experience with daggers?"

"Yeah, but I guess I'm a bit rusty with 'em now," Mahanon admitted, "It's been ages since I carried any."

"Then daggers are what we will outfit you with," Leliana said. She moved over to a table and picked up a paper, which she scribbled something onto. Then she passed it to one of her birds, which cawed and flew out an open window. "You will probably do better when them than you would with a sword."

"So you saw what Cullen was trying to do," Mahanon said, grinning. 

"It was a noble, if misguided, effort on his part," Leliana said simply.

"And arming me with knives right before I'm supposed to meet the Empress is…?"

"Practical."

"Uh-huh. Suuuuuure."

In the end he still took the knives, happy to be carrying a weapon he could actually use without falling over. But he still hoped that he wouldn't have a reason to use them.

\---

The three weeks prior to the party, Mahanon had felt like he would never be ready for it. Now, as he stood at the gates to the Winter Palace, staring down what was to be a true test of his abilities as a figurehead of the Inquisition…he still felt like he wasn't ready. He may have been dressed up in a fancy new uniform, hair slicked down in a way that looked good but felt weird to him, but he still felt out of place. He was a Dalish elf, thirteen, and in no way ready for this challenge. He wanted to run away, and fast.

Cassandra's hand on his back kept him from doing so, though.

"It is normal to feel nervous," she said, clearly trying to encourage him, "Even the nobles are on edge tonight. Just try your best, and we will handle the rest."

Just try his best, huh? 

Mahanon glanced to his left, seeing his three advisors there. They were all focused on standing up straight and looking presentable, and hadn't yet turned their attention to him. Next he looked to his right, where Vivienne stood. She looked calm and ready for whatever they were about to face, but he couldn't help wondering if she had nerves too. And just beyond Vivienne, back by the bushes, Mahanon saw Cole perched on a ledge. Nobody was paying him any mind, and he gave Mahanon a small nod before disappearing from sight when a crowd walked between the two of them. 'At least he'll be fine', Mahanon thought to himself.

Just try his best, and they will handle everything else.

No, Mahanon decided. He couldn't just 'try his best'. The others, they were always looking out for him, stepping in when he was in trouble and couldn't handle something. If he was really going to be the Herald, and eventually the Inquisitor, he needed to do more than just 'his best'. 

He needed to succeed.


End file.
